


Delicate Hearts

by siriuslydraco



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Louis is struggling with himself, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, larry stylinson - Freeform, lots of pining, slow burn is worth it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 177,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24336871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: "Wait, slow down" Louis holds up a hand,  blinking bewilderedly at Harry who now studies him with wide apprehensive eyes "you told him I was your...boyfriend?"or the one where Harry needs a fake boyfriend for a wedding and Louis may or may not be struggling with who he really is.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 221
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all enjoy this story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who decides to click on this fic and read it ! Every kudos left, every comment and every view means a lot to me !  
> Just a pre warning that this fic deals with issues like repressed sexuality, homophobia from a parental figure and is heavily inspired by my own struggles. I just want everyone to know I love and accept you all, no matter who you decide to be.  
> I imagine Louis and Harry as the way they were when they were 20 for this fic, but hey, you can imagine them however you want to. I hope everyone enjoys, and don't be shy, leave a few comments as feedback is always appreciated !  
> All the love  
> Taylor x

_I made a[playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiGfJ5rkDqWlHiIFDJiqLdmIdLDtdmvnu) for this fic, so listen if you want to. Thanks so much for reading everyone!_

* * *

**_I am out with lanterns, looking for myself_ **

**_\- Emily Dickinson_ **

"I look like a proper idiot, mate" Louis says, long fingers gripping the hem of the tight blue button up that clings to his body. He surveys his reflection in the mirror for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, but no matter how many times he's studied his overly dressed appearance he still feels no more confident in the formal getup than he had a half hour ago. 

The slacks are tight in all the wrong places and cuff near his ankles, and the horrid starchy blazer feels almost suffocating - and don't get him started on the shoes - black and shiny and pointed! He feels like a god damn pixie or something whenever he looks at his feet and it sets his mood sour and has caused a surge of uncomfortable self consciousness to bubble to the surface. 

Louis Tomlinson is not used to feeling self conscious. Oh no, certainly not. Loud and boisterous and just a little bit sassy he can sure demand a room with his rambunctious behaviour and skittish demeanour, and he sure as hell does not dress like a preppy school boy. Whoever said Adidas trainers were not formal wear?

He can see Liam through the mirror as he once again gazes at his own reflection. Liam who has done nothing but sit on Louis' bed and scroll languidly through his phone all evening while Louis himself had trailed through his flat, panicking when his hair wouldn't quiff properly and when he couldn't find the other fucking shoe that Liam had so graciously let him borrow. He wishes now, as he stares at their horrid shiny reflection that he had never found the missing one at all; he now wishes that it could have forever disappeared into the lightless void under his bed that seems to swallow everything from vanished socks to phone chargers.

"I think you look well proper, mate" Liam says in that careful drawl that hints at well practiced manners, but he seems to forget to look up from his phone. Louis fidgets yet again with the hem of his shirt, twisting it this way and that so it doesn't feel so claustrophobic - or maybe it's his own anxiousness that is causing him to feel tightness all over his now sweating body. 

"I feel like a clown, Liam. I never wear things like this" Louis pouts - yes, actually _pouts_ \- because he really is that dramatic, and strolls over to the bed with purposeful steps in his shoes that click against the wooden floor. He cringes. 

Liam raises his eyes from his phone then, surveying his friends slouched form and emits a sigh from his plump lips that seems to carry all the way towards Louis' open bedroom window and into the night sky. He imagines Liam's heavy breath carrying all the way to the navy blue horizon and whistling amongst the rapid breeze, settling there forever. But then he's smiling that wide _Liam_ smile and somehow a little bit of Louis' anxiety melts away. 

"You look well dapper though, Louis" Liam sits up, hands brushing off his own trousers that seem to fit him so much better than Louis' do "Honestly, mate, I wouldn't lie to you if I thought you looked bad. I'd tell you" 

"I never look _bad_ " Louis sniffs indignantly, but his lips quirk at the corners and he has to stop himself from crinkling his eyes like he always does when he smiles. It's proper embarrassing that. 

"That's the Louis I know and love so well" Liam chuckles with a shake of his head as he stands, his dark eyes traveling towards the floor length mirror that is propped against Louis' peeling wall - small chunks of the dark grey paint are flaking sporadically in different places. 

Liam is certainly well put together looking, Louis has to admit, as he lets his eyes flit over his friends buff form. He looks every inch the proper gentlemanly scholar in black fitted slacks, a dazzling white shirt and a grey dogtooth blazer. All he seems to need now is a cigar in one hand and a bejewelled cane in the other - maybe a pocket watch or something, Louis muses, and it would complete the look of _"overly privileged youth of Britain"._ Which Liam is - wealthy and educated with a proper knack for polite mannerisms. 

"We'll have proper fun tonight, yeah? I can't wait for it" Liam beams as he turns to Louis, his whole face seeming to light up, and somewhere deep down in the heart Louis always likes to pretend he doesn't have a flicker of warmth shoots up through his veins like pure heroin. 

He loves Liam, properly. He's his best mate and frankly his only real friend that he has here, and despite Liam's well rehearsed pleasantries and ironed out moralities Louis does not find him overbearing like most of the kids at their Uni. While most of them are the fledglings of lawyers and doctors and even Earls for fuck sake, (what even is an Earl? Louis would like to know) Louis got where he is on an athletic scholarship (footie to be exact). 

He's fought and scrambled aimlessly his whole life, never ever fitting in anywhere or in any social group dynamic but somehow he feels like he has a designated position here in this world he now finds himself in. 

The one that is housed with peeling paint and cramped hallways but also lends to the beauty of richly diverse lecture halls and ancient library books. Here in this world of privileged education he fits somewhere in the _middle_ , and he fits with Liam to be honest - the boy never looked down his nose at Louis when he'd told him his mother hadn't been some socialite and his father hadn't struck oil or whatever. Liam doesn't care, and Louis loves him for it. 

But deep down Louis knows he doesn't truly belong with these stuffy nosed princesses and vapid Eton boys who glide when they walk and sneer at the lesser. Perhaps that's why he's so wound up and full of flurried nervousness at the prospect of tonight's party. 

But it's not just a _party_ , not like the over crowded house parties Louis is used to that reek of cheap beer and weed; the kind of party that blasts outdated techno tunes and where you could throw up in the kitchen sink surrounded by fifty other people and not get judged. 

No, this is going to be hosted by a particularly over bearing group of third year boys who are all convinced they are inside some J.D Salinger novel or other; completely living in their own world where smoking anything cheaper than a Gurkha cigar is considered an atrocity or where people like Louis are considered "low class". Louis doesn't even fully understand the purpose of hosting a party in a hotel, of all places, but apparently these opulent peers of his want to celebrate their end of exams with a rather affluent display of wealth. Louis grimaces then when he thinks of how he has an English Studies exam on Monday (he's not quite finished with his courses exams and feels even less like celebrating anything tonight) 

He almost feels like giving up on the whole party and just burying himself in his blankets with some tea and a good movie, but Liam is suddenly tugging on his elbow and pulling him out of his bedroom.

"Alright, old sport, what have you to drink?" Liam says, letting Louis go as he enters the small kitchen and begins looking into Louis' cupboards that contain nothing but packets of sodium high soup mixes and the odd tea bag. He grins wide, and genuine, when he pulls out a bottle of Smirnoff that clinks down on the countertop rather heavily and a half drank bottle of cola that Louis is certain has been in the cupboard for a week now. It's probably begun to solidify at this point. 

"I've got cranberry juice too, in the fridge, if you want" Louis leans his elbows on the counter top and points behind Liam who is now pouring generous measures of cola and vodka into tea mugs but he just shakes his head as he slides one towards Louis. 

"I'm good, mate. Bottoms up" he says rather jovially, clinking his mug off of Louis' with an ear splitting grin that could warm the cockles of the coldest bastard and chugs it down heartily.

This is why Louis loves Liam; because despite his pampered upbringing he doesn't seem to mind drinking warm cola and year old vodka with a bad mouthed Donny boy. Louis is rather grateful for him to be honest, and as he looks at Liam now as he pours himself another drink he vows that he'll have fun at this bash tonight. Well he'll _try_ \- for Liam's sake anyway. 

But somehow the universe likes to mock men named Louis Tomlinson because at that exact moment his phone buzzes incessantly with what he can only guess are text messages from one very irate girlfriend (ex girlfriend? The manner of his relationship still seems up in the air to be honest). Louis groans loudly as he sees her name flash across the screen - and just like that - his mood that had been slowly trickling towards placid now heads straight to miserable. 

"Her again?" Liam asks, jerking his chipped tea mug towards the Android that seems to glare evilly from its place on the speckled counter. Louis now looks at the phone with hooded eyes as it flashes once again with her name searing across the screen like a beacon of tremendous warning. But no matter how many times Louis' inner sense of direction tells him to turn away he always manages to head back to her anyway for reasons he has yet to uncover within himself. 

"Yup" is all Louis says as he snatches up the device and unlocks it. Sure enough there are polite demands that beg him to answer her calls at the beginning of the conversation thread but then as he scrolls further down the letters become capitalized and angry and he can just imagine her crumpled brow and stark expression as she would type out her feelings. 

He's been a shitty boyfriend to be fair, and has neglected her pleas to sort things out from the beginning of last week when they had had yet another silly fight (this one started over Louis not noticing her haircut) and it had ended with her stuffing her toothbrush and pyjamas into a bag and storming out. _"Call me when you actually want a girlfriend, Louis. I'm leaving"._

Louis had sat there, mind mulling over the disturbing thought of just when she had moved her stuff in without him noticing, and also about how her words had stuck him to the floor. 

_Call me when you actually want a girlfriend._ Maybe that's the whole problem. 

Perhaps her brown eyes has held no attraction for him whatsoever, and does not hold in them the romantic excitement that wild green eyes can encapsulate or how her chewed on lips can never succinctly raise Louis' heartbeat the way a plump pink mouth could. Maybe he lay awake sometimes with his fingers threaded through her hair, wishing her mousy brown locks could be dark chestnut but if he ever did hold such desires within himself he never outwardly expressed them - hell Louis doesn't even know who he wishes his girlfriend could be. 

"She still wants to talk, huh?" Liam gauges Louis reaction carefully as he props himself up on the stiff plastic stool beside the counter and puts his mopey face into his hands. 

"She wants to sort things out, I guess, I just don't really know what there is to sort out" Louis shrugs, because damn it he really doesn't know. 

Well, maybe that's a slight lie if he is being honest, but he doesn't really want to get into it with himself. If he starts having _that_ conversation with himself, the one where he tells himself what exactly is unravelling his relationship then he'll fall into a dark pit of self loathing that he hasn't visited since childhood, and this time he won't have a shovel or a rope to get himself out of it. 

But Christina doesn't know what causes Louis' sleeplessness some nights, or why he turns the lights off when they have sex or why his palms don't sweat around her or why his heart doesn't want to leap out of his chest. Yeah she's a nice girl, a lovely girl really, with a nice smile and dark eyelashes and tanned legs that look well nice under her ballet skirts, but she's not _it_ for Louis. 

It's not her fault that she's barraging him with messages and phone calls because she probably believes there's something to fix, when Louis knows there isn't. But he'll fall back into it with her again despite it all. He just doesn't know why he keeps going back to her. 

He supposes that his inner compass is broken or something and it keeps misdirecting him. 

A compass is supposed to point you _home_ , and Louis knows his home isn't in Christina, but he keeps wandering aimlessly and lost towards her like a blind man and grapples his hooks into her for as long as she'll put up with him and then they'll split up for three weeks and get back together again. He wonders if her compass is broken too, because she sure as hell deserves more than Louis, yet she keeps taking him back with wide arms. Or maybe she believes she's being steered right by the deep rooted navigation system that is tucked somewhere near her left ventricle. 

"Is she coming to the party tonight?" Liam asks Louis then, and he tears his bleary eyes from the intricately speckled design of the counter top to the broodingly handsome face of his best mate. Louis shakes his head, the perfectly styled quiff on his head not even moving a fraction of a centimetre. 

"She has that dance audition thing near Oxford this weekend, but she's back before mid term next week" Louis tells him, slightly grateful for the fact that the whole week he hasn't managed to run into her once since she had been so busy preparing for this contemporary dance routine she had choreographed for a showcase. 

"She'll definitely corner you before then, mate" Liam chuckles, finishing off his second mug of vodka and filling up a third. Just the mere thought of Tina and her usual pre getting back together speeches has Louis slugging the last dredges of his mug and almost hurling it towards Liam for a refill. 

"I'm fucking screwed, Liam. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do" Louis whines, rather theatrically he must admit (Shakespearean actors are quaking in the tremendous shadow of Louis Tomlinson's display of sheer dramaturgical antics). 

"Why don't you just break up with her?" Liam asks him, his chest rising rather ungracefully with a burp as he takes a swig of the stale vodka mixture. Louis is sure Liam's etiquette tutor from his advantageous childhood would be thoroughly disappointed if she were witness to such vulgar behaviour. 

The question throws Louis off however, his lips pausing on the chipped lip of his mug, and his crystal baby blue's are flicked towards Liam's face with an almost fearful edginess. 

"We always work it out" is what Louis answers with when he collects himself, but the topic of conversation has made him slightly uncomfortable and uneasy. He can feel Liam's heavy gaze boring into him over the edge of his mug, his lips wet with vodka and his glassy eyes turning into slits as he studies the smaller lad. 

"Do you want to work it out though? That's what you need to ask yourself" Liam says, his words as weighty as his gaze and Louis coughs around a mouthful of the sugary concoction in his mug.

"Yeah, yeah. Course" he mumbles with a nod but he sure as hell doesn't sound like a very forlorn or heartbroken boyfriend so he adds an "Obviously, genuinely I do, yeah" 

"Right, because you sound genuine, mate. You really do" Liam snorts and Louis narrows his eyes at him, throwing him a glare that would boil over hell itself. 

"Just because you're doing your degree in Psychology doesn't mean you get to pick my brain, yeah? I just have a lot on my plate. We've exams next week and I'm picking up the late shift at work three fucking times too, and our play opens Thursday night and I'm just stressed, alright? So fucking excuse me if I don't sound ecstatic about my problems" Louis haughtily bites out, a prickle of defensiveness creeping up his spine. 

Sometimes he thinks Liam is too observant, too fucking obedient to the will of observation and too attuned to the smatterings of expression that seeps out of ones plastered on mask - and the thought deeply unsettles Louis. 

He has moulded himself into someone his past self would barely recognise and he likes to think he's done a good job of it - a good job of pretending even though he won't admit that that's what he's doing. He's made his mask from years and years of battling with himself - and it sits atop his pretty face like a heavy theatre mask that is mottled with too many layers of paper mache. 

He's an English Literature major and is an avid member of the University's drama society; so in short he's a good actor to be fair but he feels like people see him as a Thalia, the smiling mask of comedy while inside he's the brooding frown of Melpomene - the mask of tragedy. Wow, he really is dramatic. 

"Alright, mate. I'll say no more" Liam holds up a hand, but something in his eyes suggests that there is more he wants to say, and sure enough "but I just want you to be happy. You've been my best friend this past year in this place and I don't want you to be miserable, okay? And you don't seem too delighted when you're with Tina. Just have a little chat with yourself before you rush back into things" 

"Yeah, I'll have a chat with meself" Louis nods almost frantically, like one of those foam structures one would display at the front of a car wash or something. 

If only Liam knew how often he had these _little chats_ with himself, and how often his self loathing and internalized disquietude would spring up during those deep conversations with his psyche. How little snippets of his childhood will claw their way to the surface of his mind like deranged beasts, talons sharp and edged with malice as they dig forward into his subconscious and gorge themselves in the warmth of his cerebrum. But each time he'll push them under and store them way back down in what he likes to think of as the basement of his mind. It's murky and dark down there and it's frightening and he won't allow himself or anyone else to take a peek for too long. 

"Brilliant" Liam smiles, but it's not in response to Louis' rather bland declaration of talking to himself like how a devoted man who wants to reconcile his passionate romance would. No, he's staring at his phone with a quirked up smirk and his fingers now dance across the screen as he types a response to whatever has his eyes lighting up. 

"What's brilliant?" Louis asks, perking up a little bit in his seat. 

"Harold's just texted me. He's on the way to the hotel with Niall, said he'll text when he gets there so we can meet up" Liam announces breezily, his eyes scanning across his screen again. 

Louis' hands instantly reach for his mug, now all of a sudden becoming shaky and weak. He cups the mug of what now seems to be more vodka than cola and lets it slosh down his throat like a tidal wave of turmoil. If it burns his throat on the way down and leaves the back of his tongue coated with a bitter taste of ethanol he doesn't show it - remaining stony faced and unmoving. 

"Harold?" Louis finds his voice levels across the dimly lit kitchen like the baritone strum of a cello - deep and lingering against the quiet that follows. Liam doesn't respond right away, his fingers tapping on the too bright screen of his slim IPhone. But then, whatever clever string of sentences he had been articulating must send because he looks up at Louis with an expression on his face that is half a smirk, and half a smile.

Louis _really_ fucking hates Liam's observatory skills. 

"Tall bloke, curly hair, slow talker.......you might have heard of him?" Liam prods delicately and teasingly, but all of a sudden the beast in Louis' brain rises and the dragon that had been swaddled to sleep within his chest awakens - wings spreading and fire blazing from its nose - and he feels so sickly right then and there that he feels as if he'll vomit over the ugly speckled tiles of the countertop. 

He pushes his emotions down and tries to tell his heart that it's ridiculous for behaving in such a way over the mere announcement of a name. Over a _boy_. 

"Yeah, yeah. I know who you meant" Louis snaps, grumpily snatching the vodka bottle and pouring his mug up halfway with it. He doesn't much care for the mundane taste of cola now. He doesn't like how Liam looks at him with a coy smile on his face, but also with a concerned flicker in his eyes that looks something like pity and Louis doesn't know how he can display two emotions at once on one fucking face; it's a paradox really and he'd very much like it if Liam could quit staring at him. 

"I just didn't know if he was coming, that's all. He hasn't been to rehearsals this week" Louis waves a hand in the air like he's trying to dispel his thoughts with the fluid action but it doesn't work, instead he finds his mind crowded with the thought of how he hasn't seen Harry all week at the dusty theatre their group normally rehearse at. 

"Yeah, he had some family emergency or something" Liam shrugs with a downturned pout. Louis wonders what possible family emergency the son of a wealthy member of parliament could have. Perhaps he'd had luncheon with the Prime Minister and just had to drop out of school for the week? He almost wants to roll his eyes sometimes at the absurd thought that these privileged youths are his fellow classmates. 

"Oh" is Louis' pathetic response and suddenly he has the desire to down the entire bottle of Smirnoff before the clock can strike nine. But he refrains of course - he's not entirely fucked up in the head. 

"Niall's coming too. So we're in for a good night tonight, alright? We're going to enjoy ourselves" Liam declares heartily and although Louis doesn't consider either Harry or Niall to be his _friends_ exactly - since he doesn't know much about them at all and rarely speaks to them - he can agree with Liam's statement. Niall in particular is always the life and soul of the party, and Harry.....well he has his own air of quirkiness about him that certainly creates an atmosphere. Louis' phone buzzes on the countertop and his foggy eyes trail towards it. 

_Louis, text me or call me. We NEED to talk this out. I miss you._

"Yeah, alright" Louis agrees then, not bothering to text back but using his hands to fidget with a cigarette packet "We're going to enjoy ourselves tonight" 


	2. Chapter 2

**_I am so busy keeping my head above water,_ **

**_that I scarcely know who I am,_ **

**_much less who anyone else is_ **

**_\- Sylvia Plath_ **

A ridiculous spectacle of over shown wealth is presented when Louis and Liam's taxi pulls up at the front of the hotel, and Louis' eyes can't help but ogle out the window while his mind does somersaults at how stupidly pompous this party really is. What kind of twenty something year olds hire out a hotel for an end of exam party? Ridiculously wealthy ones, that's who. But despite Louis' quick desire to scoff at the way the rich do things - he can at least admit to himself that this posh monstrosity of Palladian stone looks rather pleasant. 

There's a large tumbling fountain that stands proudly and boldly outside the front gardens like an erected monument, the tinkling water running from a granite bowl that is held up by the hands of tunic clad goddesses, their stone faces carved with immortalised melancholy. But the bewitching fixture is now being swarmed by elegant girls that chatter and smoke, and Louis grimaces when he notices one girl flick her tobacco ash into the crystal pool. He smokes too, but polluting a fixture so grand is an insult to the sheer sophistication of its architecture. 

There's a boisterous din of deep guffaws and obnoxious shouts that now waver in through the crack in the car door as Louis slides it open, and from the side of the ivy encrusted hotel he can see that there is a gang of the University's masculine elite that are gathered in a loud huddle. Louis can practically smell the wealth that permeates from the hotel grounds as he opens the taxi door all the way - it smells of newly printed cash, Chanel perfume and freshly pressed polo shirts. Louis' shiny shoes crunch on the gravel of the hotel driveway when he steps from the black cab and he leans into the front to hand the driver a very crumpled tenner (Liam had insisted on paying the fare, but it's only right that Louis contributes his half. He's not one to take advantage of someone else's wealth for his own benefit). 

"Thanks, old chap. You've been most accommodating" Liam beams politely at the withered looking driver who isn't even paying attention to Liam, his beady and wrinkled eyes taking in the view of the grandiose building before him. He just grunts a response as he turns his eyes back to look at the two boys who have just scrambled from his very musty smelling vehicle - the greyness of them surveying the lads quite haughtily. Louis can't bring himself to blame him though since someone like Liam has just called him _old chap_ in perhaps the most eloquent British accent ever. Liam wants to be permanently polite but can sound like a complete tosser sometimes, and Louis holds back a smirk at the thought. 

That's one advantage of not being posh - he doesn't know how to simper and smooth things over with delicate speech. 

The hotels grand stone porch that wraps around the entirety of the colossal edifice is now swarmed with Louis' classmates and some upper University goers - those sorts standing with airs of notability oozing from their educationally mature personas. Louis sort of envies the third and fourth years because soon enough they'll be free to leave the constricting constraints of university's many demands; like writing essay upon essay and cramming for exams. He has almost three years left in university, he reminds himself glumly as he ascends the granite steps with Liam by his side. 

A few people greet them on the way in - empty smiles being thrown their way full of bared gleaming teeth and twinkling aimless eyes - and Louis can only return the fickle greetings with as much lustre as they're constructed. He really has not bothered getting to know many of his classmates properly since he started term last September, because he can't find common ground amongst these people, and if he is being honest with himself he really doesn't want to try. 

Sure he has Liam who he has practically clung to ever since they had struck up their friendship during the many late evenings they would both spend in the university's library doing assignments. Louis had always sat in the same corner every evening and had noticed that the only other occupant in the dusty stacks at eleven o'clock at night was a rather furrowed looking sort of guy that seemed to be constantly hunched over a copy of _An Introduction to Social Psychology_ \- complete with a dark crumpled brow and a set of tense shoulders, and one day Liam had asked across the library floor if Louis had a spare pen since his had run out taking notes and then that was it - they'd just become friends.

But Louis has only warmly accepted Liam's friendship because Liam is actually a genuinely nice person and does not care that Louis had once worked in Sainsbury's before he got accepted on a scholarship basis to attend their prestigious school. Louis also has Christina, but he never bothers to really attach himself to her acquaintances and normally refuses her invitations to hang out, and whenever he does he just stays close to her and drifts into a vapid stiffness and offers no real conversation. 

But despite his inward reluctance to befriend the entirety of the student body - he can admit that they know how to throw a decent enough party. He whistles lowly to himself when he walks through the large arched entryway as he takes in the decorative room before him. It's ceiling is domed and the moonlight that beams in through the golden hued windows cast a twinkling glare on the ballrooms floor. The entire room seems to be clustered with glittering, tanned limbs and sparkling jewels that drip from the ears of heiresses and snake around the wrists of future corporate lawyers. 

In the middle of the room there's a wide dancefloor that is packed with flailing bodies dressed in all manner of designer clothes and standing around the edges of the room are prim and proper figures that seem to be immersed in highly humorous conversations - booming laughs mixing with the thumping sounds of the dance music. It seems that the entire university is packed into this ballroom, and Louis immediately begins to sweat; feeling as if he needs to grip onto Liam in fears that he'll suddenly disappear into the throngs of gyrating young adults. His fear becomes reality when Liam suddenly makes a sound of exclamation, a wide grin on his face as he takes off in the direction of the open bar and Louis has to practically sprint in his elf shoes to keep up. 

"It's the boys!" Liam shoots over his shoulder as he hurries towards the gleaming bar top that is studded with free shots. A part of Louis is reluctant to pick one up (god knows what some of the shadier characters he attends school with would put into it) but the part that is already blissfully drunk on cola and vodka makes him reach for one. 

"Hey, Niall!" Liam greets his friend and Louis peers cautiously through bleary eyes over the rim of his shot glass at the stupendously grinning blond that now barrages Liam with a hug. Niall and Liam have apparently known each other for years now through their fathers, and take the same Economics elective and any chance he gets Liam is always nattering on about Niall Horan to Louis in hopes it'll warm Louis towards the notion of friendship. But Louis can't comprehend that notion when he himself is so closed off to other people normally (Liam has been an exception of course) and right now he can't even concentrate too much on the Irishman or anything to do with him when he's so obtusely aware of the other figure that rests idly against the bar top, pointed elbows grazing the polished oak as he shouts something to the bar tender over the music. Louis tries very hard not to rest his eyes on him. 

He fails miserably of course, and when the long haired boy steps away from the bar with a polite nod he turns his head - and then with all the outstanding force of a meteorite smacking earth - he locks his green eyes on Louis. He waves almost shyly when he spots him, a light rosy hue to his skin and two white teeth punctured into a plump lip but Louis doesn't have time to respond (was he even going to?) because Liam is suddenly pulling him forwards by the elbow. 

"You remember Niall, right?" Liam says close to Louis' ear, his deep voice and the blasting sound of Calvin Harris that pumps from the speakers mixing like a warped concoction in Louis' brain. 

But he understands him nonetheless and nods his head, taking the Irish boys outstretched hand. Louis has only ever met him formally once before, at a mixer party that had been held at the start of their first term but has never really spoken to him since. He's often seen him on their campus - his dirty blond head stuffed in a book in the furthest corner of the library or queuing in the coffee shop - but Louis has never struck up casual conversation with the boy. 

Liam talks about him often enough though that Louis feels like he somehow knows Niall Horan on a deeper level than just mere acquaintances. He smiles now, widely and rife with Celtic charm as he wraps his fingers around Louis' hand.

"Lewis, nice to see you again" he booms in an accent that is both rough and smooth at the same time - like how the waves can battle viciously against rock but can also descend fluidly into the ocean. It's a nice voice, albeit a bit different than the other usual accents around here, but it's nice nonetheless. 

Louis wants to correct him over his name because if it's one thing he can't stand it's people getting it wrong. Hell, even his Cultural Studies professor still gets it wrong (even though Louis is actually convinced he does it on purpose to piss him off) but before he can open his mouth someone else speaks for him. 

"It's Louis, actually" the voice is modulated and ever so slow, and the person it belongs to flicks his eyes towards Louis' face and in them he offers a silent smile. Louis looks away despite the fact he can feel something inside of him thrumming deep in the pockets of his chest. 

"Oh, thanks Harry! I'm terrible with names, honestly. Sorry, Louis" Niall laughs - giggles really - but Louis just shakes his head in nonchalance.

"It's alright, mate" he tells him as he reaches behind Liam for another shot when the direct gaze of Harry Styles becomes too much to bare. 

Louis doesn't even know what he's drinking, but it's brown and ignites inside of him a fiery burn that is both delicious and painful. He can feel the alcohol settle itself deep within his bloodstream as it courses and rushes through him, but it does nothing to dispel the ever watchful beast that lingers somewhere deep in his subconscious; looming sneeringly from the darkest depths as it awaits it's torturous prompt to be risen to the forefront of his mind. He can feel the unwelcome thoughts prickle into his head like poison and can feel something like dagger edges etch against his skin. 

He doesn't look at the boy again as he and Liam exchange pleasantries - instead finding the pattern of Niall's leather shoes to be fascinating and when they all eventually order drinks from the over populated bar it's Harry that suggests they find somewhere to sit. Louis pretends not to notice how Harry lags behind to walk beside him.

They find a spherical table that is tucked in a corner beside a large snack spread, and the four boys settle down comfortably to begin a conversation that Louis can't seem to follow. Niall is talking about golfing season and Liam delights when the Irish lad mentions someone named Zayn who will be joining him on a golf luncheon with his father during the midterm break. _Oh! Zayn's a nice bloke, proper chap!_

Louis just listens and can't even find a reason to laugh at their jokes because he doesn't understand what they mean or who the people are that they talk about. He just listens in quiet fascination and uses the time to scan his surroundings, and after about the thousandth sweep of the room with his eyes they land (yet again) on the willowy figure of Harry. 

He's clad in all black tonight and somehow Louis finds that he looks like a shadow against the ivory backdrop of the ballroom - like an emotive spirit who stalks the creaking hallways of some grand house in a Victorian novel. He has a yellow rose pinned near his collar though, the splash of colour contrasting against his ebony shirt. 

Every now and again he'll tip his head forward and shake his hair out with a giant hand before tumbling it back on top with a flourished quiff. It's a habit he does - Louis has noticed - but he finds it sickeningly endearing whenever the boy displays the action. That thought makes him shift in his chair to distract himself and all the while he can feel the bottom of his soul begin to drag itself towards the floor; escaping from his body in a withered slither. 

It's not like anyone can deny that Harry is good looking - because he is - it's just a simple fact really. But so is Liam, with his dark eyes and floppy brown hair and well put together outfits. Hell, even Niall is on the same level of attractiveness with his strong jaw and tousled blond mess on his head. But Louis never finds himself looking at them the way he does with Harry.

Louis can't hide the fact - no matter how hard he tries to push his glaringly obvious attraction to Harry down - that he always finds himself studying the broad and plump plains of his face every chance he gets; like in rehearsals when Harry is sitting amongst his fellow orchestra members, when he's languidly propped up on the edge of the stage, capped highlighter between his lips as he scribbles down compositions and corrections and even when he's mindlessly strolling by the campus coffee shop where Louis is tucked beneath an umbrella, fidgeting with the keys of his computer as he attempts to write an assignment. 

He snaps out of his frivolous train of thought then and grinds his teeth together after slugging a mouthful of the vodka and coke he had bought at the crammed bar before they'd retreated here, because he does not like the course of direction his mind is taking. 

Louis does _not_ find Harry attractive in any other way more than an observatory one. Louis does _not_ sneak glances at him whilst he's studying across the library from him, and he certainly does _not_ forget his lines in rehearsal when he's too busy watching Harry play piano along with the theatre's orchestra. Most of all he does _not_ get distracted by his hands and how they glide across piano keys or how they tickle the strings of his guitar while he laughs in the corner of the university's theatre with the other musically gifted children. 

No. _He absolutely does not_. He also certainly does not shun the idea of becoming his friend due to the fact he's afraid of his own emotions. 

Harry has tried - very unsuccessfully - to initiate conversation with Louis during play rehearsals or at house parties that Liam drags Louis to, but Louis will just answer whatever question has been asked and not extend the conversation further. It always creates an awkward atmosphere - Louis is almost sure Harry thinks that he's a giant prick - but he still _tries_. Because Harry is just that nice of a person. 

Louis wonders now as he watches Harry carefully through heavy eyes exactly where he's been the past week, and if he's okay. He certainly doesn't seem as high spirited or loud as usual, and the thought makes Louis frown a little. His nostrils flare suddenly at his own damn weakness, and he clenches his fist around the perimeter of his glass as he tries to shove down whatever semblance of fondness had been bubbling up to the surface. 

He looks around the room again and spies a blonde ogling him from the open French doors that lead onto the balcony. She twirls a finger around a thick curl and sends him one of those innocent yet seductive grins and Louis shoots her one back - winking to tie the exchange up prettily. She blushes and turns back to one of her friends, a giggle escaping her plump lips but Louis feels as much alive as one of those garish stone carvings that sit outside in the hotels garden. 

He hates himself sometimes. A girl like _that_ \- who is just as beautiful as the well made models who grace magazine covers - just openly flirted with him and he feels absolutely.... _nothing_. His heart lies dormant in his chest like one of those inactive volcanos. 

"Louis?" he hears the voice waft towards him then and it sends a shot of something up his spine - an electric current that has the power to both paralyze him and send him sky rocketing. He turns his blue eyes to meet green and Harry Styles is looking at him with a face that is open and expectant. He shifts yet again in his chair. 

"Um, yeah?" he coughs as his brain refocuses and he can almost feel the burn of Liam's eyes on him from where he sits ever so inquisitively in Louis' peripheral vision. 

"We were just talking about what we're getting up to during the midterm" Harry's voice is the kind that could put you to sleep, but at the same time it can stir within someone a deep desire to keep listening; to not fall asleep at all but rest there and unravel the timbre of his colloquialisms and quirks. 

"Oh um....I've nothing planned really" Louis mumbles as his hyper fingers fiddle with the ivory tablecloth, but Liam makes a protesting noise beside him that sounds like half a titter and half a scoff. 

"Oh come on Louis, you have to have something planned? You heading back to visit your sister? What about your dad? You seeing him?" Liam asks in a rush of vowels and consonants that rise eloquently in the air the same way the champagne bubbles at the bottom of Liam's glass are fizzling to the top. Louis knows Liam is only trying to pull him into the conversation, to get him to talk to Harry because somehow Liam is obsessed with the notion of Louis making more friends, and is particularly fond of the idea of _Harry_ becoming one of those friends. Louis can't imagine why Liam would think that. 

But nevertheless, the mention of his father sets his blood cold and he can already feel the soft tremors of anger begin inside him at the mere thought of him. He can tell by the _"oh shit"_ look on Liam's face that he hadn't meant to say that. 

"No, I'm not visiting John. Haven't seen him in nearly a year" Louis says flatly as he rests both elbows on the table "might visit Lottie though" 

"Is that your sister?" Harrys asks him, scooting his chair closer to the table. The way he looks at Louis is suspiciously understanding, and there's a soft light in the pale jade of his eyes that is nothing but purely _kind_. He is grateful that Harry hasn't decided to press the topic of Louis' father at all, instead picking at the mention of his sister. Any opportunity not to talk about his father is one that must always be taken. 

"Yeah" Louis answers with a nod but he can see how the three boys around the table eye him expectantly, as if they're waiting for more conversation so Louis obliges with a hidden sigh "she lives in Doncaster so I don't see her much. She's a trainee nurse so she's always busy" 

"Splendid! I have the highest respect for healthcare staff" Niall exclaims with a nod and folded arms - reminiscent to an old time politician "are most of your family in the business then?" 

Louis almost laughs, but he holds back the half drunken titter behind his lips. Of course these wealthy and highly tutored individuals would think he's come from a long line of doctors or private specialists who own their own practice on Harley Street or whatnot. Not thinking that his sister pulled herself through school while working two jobs to get into the nursing course she's in now. 

"Nope, just Lottie. She wants to be a midwife like my....uh no it's just Lottie who's _in_ _the business_ , as you put it" Louis says with a stutter, long fingers tracing around the rim of his glass to distract his mind from the very evident picture of his Mum that lives inside it. He doesn't want to talk about her or how she has been the sole inspiration for his sisters career path. 

"What does your father do?" Niall asks him, kind light eyes boring into his face. The Irish boy has such a calm air about him that the question doesn't even seem as invasive as it should. Louis hates talking about John Tomlinson as much as he hates the man himself. 

_What does my father do?_ Louis ponders inside his own head for a moment, a swarm of answers circulating around his frontal lobe like scattered marbles. _Well,_ Louis would love to say, _my father has an exceptional talent of being a right prick and ignoring his own children for years on end. Oh! And he fucks younger women, another hobby of his that caused the downfall of his family._

"Property developer" is what he goes for instead, and he's sure his tight tone of voice is enough of a giveaway to drop the subject - well that and Liam's awkward body posture. Louis' has told his friend most of his hatred for his father and has often exploded in pure rage whenever his father sends him a text on Christmas or his birthday ( because what right has he after walking out on his family? How dare he go months without contact and then send a message with smiley emoji's and exclamation marks like his false exuberance is enough to soothe over the years of pain Louis has suffered because of him ). His father _is_ a property developer however, and quite a wealthy one at that who owns _Tomlinson Property Solutions_ \- a company who is responsible for the modernisation of half of Britain. Perhaps his fathers way of living is the reason he can't stand most rich people or their entitlement. Despite the fact John Tomlinson sits on a pretty fortune, he hadn't once offered to pay for Louis' tuition - hard work and scholarship applications is the reason for Louis' attendance here. 

The conversation shifts to something completely different then thanks to Liam's exceptional aptitude of steering away from uncomfortable topics (Louis thinks he'll be a phenomenal psychologist someday) but Louis can feel Harry's curious eyes on him. He really wants to look at him - to just peer into his green eyes and feel helpless under their forest tinged gaze - but he doesn't and chooses to abruptly stand up from the table. 

"I'm getting another drink. Anyone want anything?" Louis asks, voice a little shaky and both Niall and Liam shake their heads. It's as he's turning away from the table that a black shadow casts itself in his peripheral vision. 

"I'll come with you" he hears Harry say and his heart stills in his chest when the boy throws him a winsome smile and strolls ever so lazily towards him. 

Louis turns in the direction of the bar then, his mind now fully intent on ordering a double vodka. 


	3. Chapter 3

_**We are all broken...that's how the light gets in** _

_**\- Hemingway** _

Infuriatingly, Liam had been right in the end; Louis really did end up having a good night after he had eventually loosened up thanks to the affects of the copious amounts of bitter vodka he'd downed. After about his fourth glass of the stuff (mixed thoroughly with cola and topped off with a pretentious lemon wedge) he felt that the liquid had become quite successful in joining the other dwindling alcohol that he had consumed back in his apartment, and together it rendered him victim to a blissful stupor. He had then felt delightfully dizzy all of a sudden, and had become rather loud when discussing football with Niall (both Harry and Liam had pushed their chairs closer together as they'd taken up their own conversation). 

"You know what, Louis?" Niall had announced then as he'd clapped a hand onto Louis' shoulder; his eyes bleary and head endearingly cocked to one side. He was completely and utterly done for and kept tipping over to one side in his chair, so much so that Louis kept having to push him back into an upright position. Who ever said the Irish could handle their liquor? 

"Yes, Niall?" Louis smiled widely at the blond boy, his blue drooping eyes meeting Niall's. He could feel the ever watchful shadow of Harry studying him from the corner of his eye, a long and fluid hand propped under his chin as his elbow rested on the table. 

"I think you're a proper sort, Louis! I really don't know how we've never been friends before!" Niall exclaimed rather dramatically, pouting drunkenly into his glass of whiskey. Louis had laughed then, almost wildly and embarrassingly as he'd waved a hand around in the air (fuck you alcohol for throwing well studied mannerisms to the wind) and had then declared that he and Niall should be friends forever. 

"Hey, Payno!" Niall had shouted while slinging an arm around Louis' slim shoulders "I've just made a best friend forever! Aren't we best friends, Louis?"   
Liam had turned to look at them then after he'd ripped his eyes from Harry's face, and as he took in the sight of Niall and Louis clinging to each other he beamed a smile so bright it almost rivalled the twinkling lights that hung around the room. 

"See I told you we're not all that bad!" Liam had said then, well chuffed with Louis' new friendship since he had always been the one to insist that Louis should make more friends "Louis here seems to think we're all stuck up or something, or that he doesn't fit in"

"Course I don't, you daft idiot!" Louis chuckled with a shake of his head while trying not to notice how his eyes were finding it very hard not to fall on Harry, but when they did he noticed that the slightly more sober boy was staring at him with a crumpled brow. My word, he could look fiercely serious sometimes. 

"Come off it, Louis! We're friends, how could you not fit in?" Niall threw his hand around, circling it in the direction of the room as if in an attempt to demonstrate that just because Louis was sitting amongst his wealthy and socially superior classmates that it somehow meant he fit into the same demographic. 

"I only go here because I got a scholarship, yeah? Because I'm damn good at football" Louis had declared with a curt nod of his head as if to solidify the fact that he could most definitely play the sport well "and you're all rich and shit, and I work as a waiter. See the difference?" 

"You work at Wellington, right? That restaurant near the art studio in town?" Harry asked deeply, his voice holding an interest that almost made Louis stick to his chair. It also surprised him greatly to learn that Harry in fact knew the name of the place he worked, because how exactly did he know such a trivial thing about someone he barely spoke to? 

"Yeah, how do you know that?" Louis asked softly and when his dazed eyes met Harry's green ones from across the table he could almost feel something that felt an awful lot like fondness well up in his chest. He gulped down a mouthful of his drink and grimaced at the taste; the lemon wedge had submerged itself into the last droplets of the brown liquid and in result it had made the taste altogether sickeningly sweet. 

"Who cares about that!" Niall had interrupted and Louis had found himself tearing his gaze away from Harry's kind face "I've decided you're great company! We're friends from here on out, and don't think for a second I'm one of those toffs who give a damn about all that social class bullshit!" 

The conversation had ended then when Liam's favourite dance track had blasted from the speakers where an overly exuberant disc jockey stood flailing his arms like a mad man and announcing random gibberish into the microphone in an attempt to hype up the already drunk crowd. Louis had danced wildly with Liam and had even let Niall swing him around in a circle, complete with linked arms as if they were two jolly leprechauns or something. 

He had become so wonderfully drunk then that all thoughts of Christina had completely vanished from his mind, and if he felt his phone buzz in his breast pocket throughout the night he had made no attempt at acknowledging it. 

He just let go of his inhibitions for a couple of hours and had not berated himself too much if he had found his heart racing whenever Harry would sling an arm around Louis' shoulders during a rather fumbling attempt at a group shuffle on the dancefloor. Hell, Louis had even done shots with Harry at the bar when Niall and Liam had refused to leave the throngs of dancers - both too content to waltz with one another even though the tempo of the loud music didn't match their actions. Louis really did have fun, and he really couldn't understand why he had been so reluctant at the start of the night. But then again, alcohol in copious volumes really could vamp up the most mundane of events. 

Louis had returned to the dancefloor for most of the night and had almost lost his voice screaming along to the sounds of Mr Brightside. If Harry had whipped his hair and made rock star faces while jumping into the middle of their small group, well then Louis very much pretended like it wasn't the most endearing sight ever. 

But Harry's exuberance was soon snuffed out when he'd received some sort of a text on his phone. Louis had watched him as he'd stood stock still in the middle of the dancefloor while trying to squint his eyes just enough so that he could see whatever was displayed on the screen. He had excused himself then and disappeared into the throngs of dancing students, and Louis had watched him stalk away with a slightly deflated heart. 

Harry was good fun to be around, that was all. 

Louis definitely did not feel concern for him or cared why his face had fallen ever so slightly or felt a pang in his chest when his green eyes had seemed to quickly well up with fat tears. 

The remaining company had then danced for another while longer as a trio, gripping onto each other and laughing, but in the back of Louis' mind he kept wondering where Harry was, and his eyes darted frantically to the room's entryway every few seconds without the success of falling upon the image of his tall shadow. 

That's why he has now found himself aimlessly wandering the hotels garden grounds - using the lit cigarette in his hand as an excuse for his outdoor presence but deep down in his frightfully internalized mind he knows exactly what he's really doing.

He is looking for a rather tall boy with curly hair, and sure enough after stumbling into a patch of hydrangeas and nearly setting the bush on fire with his cigarette he spots Harry sitting by himself on a stone bench that is placed purposefully in front of yet another colossal fountain (How many of these things must one hotel have?). 

Louis makes to move towards him, one foot in front of the other, but suddenly there's a voice inside his head that snakes its way out of the murky memories that lie deep within his subconscious. It rises like the spiralling tendril of an inferno and licks his wounds with a forked tongue, and whispers to him in a lilt that oddly sounds like his sneering father. 

Louis stops dead in his tracks. 

He can almost visualize John Tomlinson as if he's in front of his very eyes right now. He'd be glaring at him with a violent disgust written over his stern face and his thin lips would be snarled into a leer that would only add to the overall intimidation Louis was subject to as a child. 

But Louis puts the other foot forward as he drunkenly meanders towards Harry. If that were Liam sitting there all alone with a bright phone screen glinting across his sad features and a heavy set to his shoulders, then Louis would most certainly be checking up on him. 

Perhaps him and Harry aren't extremely close but Louis... _cares_. The thought sends a shock through him that nearly causes his bumbling footsteps to halt yet again, but he continues on as he chants a mantra inside his head that is rife with the intention of calming the ugly beast in his chest. 

_Friends. Friends. Friends. That's all. Alright, Louis?_ One foot in front of the other. 

"Hey" Louis rasps out when Harry looks up at the sound of his footsteps; his emerald eyes ever wild and intriguing as they meet Louis' of electric blue. He puts his cigarette between his lips and finds that as he does his hand trembles a little. He can also feel something in his chest tremor like the fluttering of butterfly wings and it's almost causing him to sober up. 

"Hey" Harry lets out as he attempts a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes or make them crinkle like they normally do when he's grinning. Louis shuffles on his feet a little, gaze lingering on the empty spot beside Harry before he decides to plonk himself down on the cold stone. The chill of it permeates through the back of his slacks and sends a shiver up his spine that pervades bone deep within him. 

"Fuck, it's cold out here. You smoke?" Louis shudders a little as he holds out his cigarette box towards Harry. 

He looks sceptically at the offered cigarettes with a crumpled brow, and Louis can almost confidently guess that Harry does not in fact smoke since he looks like he's having a dilemma inside his own head on whether he should take one. Nevertheless, something possesses him to accept; and after a beat he reaches out a large hand and plucks one fluidly from the pack that he then brings to his mouth. 

Harry leans forward when Louis flicks the lighter on with a hand that tremors visibly, and he can't seem to deny the sick thrill that pulls in the bottom of his stomach at seeing the cigarette hanging lazily from his full lips. 

Louis just sits there on the frigid bench, trying very hard not to notice how Harry has untied the yellow rose clasp that had hung around his throat and has his black shirt buttoned down to his sternum. Louis can just about spy the smatterings of delicate ink on Harry's chest but before he can make out what his tattoos are, the long haired boy sits up with a smile. 

"I haven't smoked in years" Harry shakes his tousled mess of hair as he inhales the ashy cloud of tobacco deep into his lungs. He crosses his long legs ever so effortlessly then and looks up towards the sky with misty eyes and a very thoughtful smile. 

"Don't take up the habit. Very bad for you" Louis mock warns and Harry chuckles a little when he relaxes, looking back down to partner his eyes with Louis'. 

"I could always just blame you" Harry tells him with a nudge in the side; a pointed elbow catching Louis in the soft part of his waist. He pretends that the touch doesn't send some sort of spark up his cold body, or that the weight of Harry's handsome gaze is deliciously unbearable. 

Even under the silvery glow of the moon and surrounded by a vast canvas of obsidian black, Harry's eyes still manage to emit some sort of spirited glimmer. Louis looks away rather quickly and pretends to be thoroughly interested in studying the blush pink peonies that litter the ground close to them in a very well trimmed line. 

"You alright tonight? I uh....noticed you kind of ran out earlier" Louis asks after taking a purposeful drag of his cigarette. Harry inhales his smoke too, the amber tip glowing and reflecting in his green eyes as he does - and he seems to ponder silently to himself as if he's weighing out how his answer will sound on his tongue; but he just sighs heavily to himself and unlocks the phone that had rested in the space between their bodies. 

"I saw this on Instagram earlier when I got a notification" Harry says in a tone that drags and sinks like an anchor being tossed to the ocean floor "it's of my ex and clearly they've moved on" 

He scoffs almost bitterly as he hands the phone to Louis, and just because he's slightly still drunk he has to squint his eyes narrowly so his vision can focus. The photo is bright and colourful, the two people on the screen are wrapped around one another against a backdrop of blooming flowers. The girl is stunningly beautiful with dark curls and a glowing smile - twinkling brown eyes staring at the camera. Her skin is glimmering like one of those fashion models that pose for swimwear lines and her slender arms are wrapped around a man who is smiling equally as wide. 

"She's very pretty. Were you together long?" Louis questions gently, tearing his eyes from the happy couple and towards Harry who now looks at Louis with a quizzical expression etched onto his face. 

"Not her. _Him_ " Harry shakes his head, a long finger pointing towards the guy in the photograph "he's the one who posted that earlier" 

There seems to be a paralyzing sensation snaking its way throughout Louis' whole body at the realisation of Harry's words, and he lets his eyes fall on his face in widened disbelief because....Harry likes _boys_. Harry dated another _boy_. 

Suddenly there's a sharp pain just below Louis' ribcage and he can almost feel how the imprisoned part of his soul tries to claw its way out of his body to breathe the clean air around them. But he shuts it down and holds it back, not letting it escape to freedom, and he can't seem to feel guilty about it. He _won't_ feel guilty. Most prisoners would tell you there's some sort of comfort to being institutionalised. 

"Oh right" Louis just mumbles a little, trying hard to ignore the way his heart is banging against his chest. All of a sudden he finds out Harry is into men and he's rattling like a nervous case. 

"Um yeah, but to answer your question we weren't together too long. We've known each other all our lives though. We were best friends and last summer we spent it at his fathers property in Italy and I guess....things just happened" Harry wistfully reminisces as he stares into the dark horizon of the garden "I'd always had feelings for him and when we finally got together I really felt like we'd be together forever, you know?. But I guess it wasn't meant to be" 

Harry lets out a rough snort through his nose as he nods his head towards the photo that lights up the phone Louis is still holding. He takes in the picture again, and this time he looks at the boy who clearly broke Harry's heart and can't help but feel a trace of venom lick its way through his bloodstream. He looks like one of those boys who exude the very embodiment of wealth with his perfectly tousled hair and straight white smile (Louis wonders how much he had to pay for it). 

"What happened between the two of you?" Louis finds himself asking, his voice wavering out from a dark nook inside of him and voicing its question before he can even register that he's speaking. Harry eyes him studiously with a cocked head like he can't believe someone would be interested in hearing his story. 

"Well, Theo was always more uncomfortable about who he was. I mean he liked girls too but I guess he just wasn't happy with the side of himself that liked men, so when things got serious with us he ended it. I guess he did that before anyone found out we were together" Harry explains, a trace of bitterness in his deep voice "he wasn't brave enough to love me, and I wasn't going to be someone's secret" 

_He wasn't brave enough to love me._ He wasn't _brave_ enough. _**Brave**_. 

Harry's words circulate around Louis' head like an echo that rumbles through the standing pillars of an empty cathedral. They threaten to cave in his walls and shatter the windows to his heart but he quickly repairs them with a rapid expertise he's crafted through many years of self denial. He ignores the impact Harry's words have on him with a shake of his head and a shuffle of his body on the cold granite bench. 

"That sucks, mate. I'm sorry" Louis says and maybe it's because of the alcohol affecting his body, or the fact he feels dizzy from smoking so fast in the last couple minutes or because Harry's pouting face causes a stir within him, he coughs out and says "wanna take a picture? I'm sure that would make him jealous, right?" 

_What the fucking fuck Louis Tomlinson? ,_ he roars inside his own head, _you try and not affiliate yourself with Harry on a daily basis and now you want selfies with him to make his ex boyfriend jealous?_

Somewhere back in the sober part of his brain he can almost hear himself cringing, but he doesn't seem to be thinking straight because the next second he's holding Harry's phone in front of their faces. The younger boy looks slightly sceptical but relaxes a few seconds later when Louis angles his body towards him. 

Louis feels an odd sense of warmth when his shoulder touches off of Harry's and his skin breaks out into a sporadic flush of goose bumps when he feels his long hair tickle off his jawbone. He can smell him too, his woodsy cologne permeating his senses and he tries to hold the phone steadily when he snaps the picture. 

The flash is bright and blinding against their faces, and Louis has to blink rapidly for a few minutes afterwards to gain the power of his sight back. But the picture is well acceptable and in it Harry's smile is wide and winsome, and Louis has two fingers held up in an almost _fuck you_ sort of a way. Harry giggles when he sees it and Louis pretends like the sound isn't awfully endearing. 

"I like that" Harry nods acceptingly while Louis begins swiping through Instagram filters to cover the photo (he settles for a classic smoothing effect ) and types out his username to tag himself. 

"Normally I wouldn't approve of following ones ex on social media but.....in this situation I can see the benefit. Means he'll see this" Louis chuckles triumphantly "he can make up his own conclusion" 

"What will you caption it?" Harry asks as he leans into Louis' side, and for a moment he just meets his deep green gaze and remains speechless as he ponders the thought. He could come up with some clever caption, but what would he say? It's not like he and Harry share any inside jokes or commonalities that would make for an appropriate tagline; but he looks back down at the phone and adds in two emoji's in a sort of spur of the moment way. 

Two hearts. One green. The other blue. 

"There" Louis hands Harry back the phone with a smile, finding that it's the sort that makes your cheeks hurt and your jaw feel tight. Harry just beams at the phone for a second, a fond look in his eyes that sets Louis' heart ablaze with a rapid warmth that seems to trickle throughout his entire body. He almost forgets about the chill of the night. 

"Thanks, Louis. You didn't have to do that" Harry mumbles around the butt of his smoke as he brings the last quarter of it to his lips. Louis' own cigarette is nearly burnt right down to his fingers and he flicks it away carelessly into the hedging. 

"No problem. The daft prick might see it and get all jealous, so that's worth it right?" Louis shrugs "and I know how it feels, you know. All that relationship bullshit. I'm kind of an expert" 

"You're still dating that girl?" Harry gets all awkward then, kicking the grass with the tip of a gold boot "the one who's majoring in dance?" 

"Yeah. I mean no....I uh, I actually don't know" Louis sighs heavily, feeling the dead weight of his mobile phone in his breast pocket. It hasn't chirped with a text or buzzed with a call in over an hour and Louis guesses that maybe Tina's gone to bed, or perhaps she's just decided to give up on trying too hard for one night. 

"What do you mean?" Harry questions softly, green eyes once again returning to the older boys face. 

"It's complicated" Louis tells him with a drawn out sigh and a set of tense shoulders, but Harry only smirks a little and nudges him with an elbow. It's the second time he's done the gesture tonight, yet Louis still seems to feel a foreign emotion sliver its way into his heart when he does. 

"Good thing I'm quite intelligent then" Harry grins cheekily, pearly white teeth baring behind his cherry red lips "so I'm sure I can keep up" 

Louis chuckles at that but feels a rush of reverence sweep over him at the fact that Harry seems genuinely interested and even a little concerned over his sudden unsure declaration of his relationship status. 

He shifts on the stone top of the bench to angle himself towards Harry and says "Well....this sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but we had this massive fucking fight the other day because I didn't notice that she'd gotten her hair cut. It just spiralled from there really and she kept banging on about me not caring enough about her and how I never notice anything about her. She packed up a bag and left. I didn't even know she'd moved her stuff in!" 

"Wow, that's a bit of an intense reaction over a hair cut" Harry raises an eyebrow and crosses his long legs as he too turns his body towards Louis. 

"I guess she is right though" Louis huffs out, suddenly interested in smoothing non existent lines on his slacks "I don't give her nearly as much attention as I should. But I mean she has to understand that I'm not going to notice every little thing all the time. Doesn't mean I don't care" 

It's true, as shameful as Louis feels to admit it. But he really can not be considered boyfriend of the year, and certainly doesn't pay enough attention to small details like Tina's haircuts and nail polish colours or even trivial things like her favourite Starbucks drink. Those snippets of information certainly can not be considered complicated to garner about one person, and it isn't like Louis doesn't try. Because he does. He knows her birthday and star sign and her favourite film and the other big stuff that you'd probably know about anyone you've had several conversations with. He knows she's a vegan (she was always eating those fucking trendy avocado sandwiches that he just can't stomach) and that she loves to dance more than anything else in the world. 

But it's like his brain just can't soak up the small inconsequential details about her, and sometimes she would remind him of something every now and again and he would be left grappling with his memories to try and recall what she was talking about. 

"Do you love her?" Harry asks him then, his soft voice pulling Louis out of the slowly caving in pit of self deprecation that he has just fallen into at the thought that he is an overall shitty person to be in a relationship with. He stares at Harry then, unblinking and mouth agape, because he really can't seem to answer right away. 

He's been in a relationship with Tina for almost eight months. Surely he should know how he feels about her. 

"I'm only asking because if you really, truly love someone then you can work things out, right? She'll understand if you tell her that and if she doesn't then you deserve to be with someone who understands you completely" Harry elaborates kindly and all Louis can do is nod as his eyes trace over Harry's structured face. The moonlight seems to bounce of his ivory skin like he's some sort of statue - just like the ones of the Titans who are carved into the side of the fountain they sit in front of. 

"Yeah....maybe" Louis nods again, his eyes falling onto Harry's plump mouth that seems to bloom upon his face like a budding rose. But his trance is broken quickly when he hears within himself a leer that is malicious and cold, and he can feel claws embed themselves in his flesh to pull him back. He sits up straighter then, and away from the other boy. 

He's grateful that his own inner turmoil and self slaughter is interrupted then when a wild shout that sounds very Irish booms from the distance, and both Louis and Harry snap their heads up in the direction of the hotels back veranda. Sure enough, Niall stands there waving over to them frantically from where he rather ungracefully wobbles on the stone staircase that leads out to the gardens - Liam clinging to his side with an equally drunk grin on his face. 

"Hey, losers! We were looking for you" Niall roars over and Harry giggles from where he sits as he takes the sight in "come in for a drink! Round's on me!" 

"Guess I can't say no to that" Louis laughs as he stands up, and Harry does the same. But before either of them can start to walk back towards the hotel Louis feels a large hand clasp itself against his arm. The touch seems to burn red hot through his blazer and all the way to freckle against his skin, and his eyes fly to Harry's hand that is now wrapped around his elbow. Suddenly his mouth turns very dry.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" Harry asks Louis with a cocked head and a furrowed brow. 

"Huh?" is Louis' intelligent reply and he oddly finds that his throat feels as if it's closing and his lips are dry. He tries to steady the heartbeat that hammers in his chest by telling it that it's being highly irrational. 

"When you said how you feel that you don't fit in? Do you really think that, Louis?" Harry questions and when he drops his hand, running it down Louis' arm and eventually letting it hang by his side, Louis can't deny the cold feeling that seems to swarm him then. 

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't exactly come from money or whatever" Louis mumbles, shaking out his shoulder in an attempt to shift the itch that's slowly permeating bone deep within him. 

"That shouldn't matter, Louis. It shouldn't make you feel any less than anyone else here" Harry assures him. 

"Matters round here though, doesn't it?" Louis remarks bitterly, but Harry just shakes his head and Louis can't help but watch how his long hair bounces against his collarbones as he does. 

"Yeah to some people. But it doesn't matter to me" Harry strongly declares "and for the record I agree with Niall. You do fit in perfectly well with us" 

Louis doesn't say anything in response, but he isn't sure whether Harry had been going to wait for one because all of a sudden the taller boy is stalking away like the flickering shadow of a ghost. Louis just stands there for a second as he watches his form slowly depart the dark blanket of the gardens and become swathed in the golden glow that cuts across the landscape in a sharp sliver as it pours from the hotel windows. 

Louis' still drunk, sure. But his emotions have been all over the place tonight in a way that has left him feeling intoxicated in another way, and now he tries his hardest to sober up his heart and thoughts because he really can't allow himself to accept them. 

He feels a sudden burn underneath the soft material of his blazer in the place Harry touched him, and it seems to seep through his skin and warm him all over. 

_Stop it Louis_ , he tells himself with a clenched jaw, _you're being fucking ridiculous. It's just the alcohol that has you all confused._

He plucks his phone out of his pocket then rather roughly, and unlocks the screen with a desperate hurriedness. His fingers swipe across the phone to find the chat where his girlfriends name resides on top, and his bleary eyes read the last message she had sent. It had been sent almost an hour ago - right around the time he and Harry had been doing shots at the bar and laughing about Niall's attempt of twerking. 

Her message reads - _I'll stop texting you now. But I really miss you, Louis. Goodnight x_

 _Goodnight_ , Louis types out, _and I miss you too._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Love has turned on me;** _

_**And now I am its liar** _

_**\- Elaine Kahn** _

Harry's heart races and his hands tremble as he clumsily bounds into the university's large library - his determined green eyes scanning the crowded space for a tuft of dirty blond hair. Niall had told him that he'd be spending the day studying for his upcoming business exam, but Harry can't see him and the building panic that is slowly transforming to a loud crescendo in his chest now threatens to cut off his air supply.

He hasn't panicked this much since he and his sister Gemma had broken a priceless family artefact by playing cricket indoors at their grandparents' summer home. His Nana has never let him forget the fact that he had smashed her granite bust of Sir Arthur Styles with a pudding ball.

He spots Niall then after his third sweep of the room and scampers towards him, his hurried steps muffled by the god awful checked carpet on the library floor. He's tucked away in the furthest corner, surrounded by shelves of books on economics and business management, and is so engrossed in whatever he's furiously jotting down on a notepad that he doesn't even look up when Harry pulls out a chair beside him.

"I've done something very stupid, Niall" Harry says lowly, sternly directed eyes watching as the Irish boy flinches in surprise at the sudden presence of another person. He regains himself quickly however, throwing his pen down onto the pile of notes and settling back into his chair. His light gaze takes in his obviously distressed looking friend with a hint of amusement - but Harry is not in the mood to find this current situation funny.

"Well, hello to you too" Niall greets with an entertained smirk but Harry does not return it. The blond boy shifts in his chair when Harry drags his closer, looking behind his shoulder to check that they are well away from anyone's listening ears.

"Niall, I have currently found myself in a situation that could potentially ruin my life" Harry tells him dramatically, a large hand shifting in his coat pocket to retrieve his phone. He unlocks it with a trembling hand.

"Slow down, motor mouth. I don't think I've ever heard you talk this fast" Niall shakes his head with a quiet chuckle, but he can tell that Harry is on edge and the thought of what it could be disconcerts him greatly "just tell me what's wrong, yeah? And we'll see what we can do"

"I don't think we can do anything. I've gone and made a huge mistake, Niall, and I don't see how I can get out of it" Harry groans, tugging on his long hair with fingers that seek to fidget his anxiety right out of his body.

"Harry. Just tell me, yeah?" Niall leans forward on his elbows and places a hand on top of his friend's arm in a gesture of reassurance, but it does nothing to dispel the glimmering panic that washes itself in Harry's green eyes.

"You remember Theo?" Harry sheepishly asks his friend and by the way Niall snorts with an eye roll Harry can tell that he does.

Niall and Harry have been friends for years and he knows all about Harry's summer romance with the son of an Italian distillery heir. Niall has however, never met Theo in person since they both run in different social circles, but somehow he has developed a very strong distaste towards the very idea of him ever since Harry had come home from Verona with a broken heart. Perhaps Shakespeare had been right to set the tragic love story of Romeo and Juliet there because the place seemed to be a tomb for young romance.

"Yeah" Niall grunts, folding his arms across his chest "I remember"

"Well, you see...obviously I was very drunk at the party the other night and...well Louis and I....Louis Tomlinson, you remember him right? Well I-"

"I think I preferred when you were speaking at the speed of light" Niall teases him but Harry just sighs heavily - shoulders weighted by his own foolishness and in a swift movement he hands Niall his unlocked phone. Two smiling faces beam out from the screen; the caption of blue and green hearts tagged under the picture glaring at him like alluring beacons of a faint memory.

Harry remembers little from the party, but can specifically recall the deep conversation he had with Louis by the garden fountain. He doesn't think he'd ever talked so much to him before, even though he's wanted to many times. Louis had actually listened to his plight about Theo and his new girlfriend and had even cheered him up; those eyes of crystal blue and that affable smile managing to calm within Harry the tidal wave of heartache that had been waiting to wash over him.

He hasn't stopped thinking of him ever since.

Truth be told, Harry knows he never stops thinking about Louis. 

He's had one of those desperate, all consuming crushes on him filled with a very heart bursting fondness ever since he'd bumped into him in the theatre's toilets last year at the auditions for Othello. He'd never seen anyone with eyes as clear or with skin so soft looking or with a smile that had the ability to stop time itself. But Louis had never engaged in conversation with him until the other night - he had always just kept to himself or hung around with that stuffy nosed Christina girl.

"It's a picture of you and Louis" Niall states the obvious then, his voice pulling Harry away from his own thoughts "you guys look really cute together"

"Stop it!" Harry scolds his friend, pulling the phone away from him and locking it swiftly with one press of a button. Niall just laughs quietly behind his hand so as not to disturb any of the other studious patrons of the large library - or maybe he just doesn't want to face the wrath of the withered looking librarian who sits perched on a stool behind her administration desk. She certainly is dour looking with a severe brow and hooked nose. Harry has seen kinder portrayals of witches in art and literature. 

"What? You really do though" Niall smirks widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners "but I don't see the problem? I mean are you freaking out over the picture or about Theo? I don't understand, mate"

"Alright so here's the thing, yeah? Louis and I talked for a while at the party and I was upset because Theo had just posted a picture with his girlfriend, and I was a little jealous and hurt that he'd just moved on" Harry explains with a wave of his hand - monotonous voice whispering slowly and carefully "so I told Louis this and then he suggested we take a picture, post it and that it might make Theo a little jealous....and it worked"

"He texted you didn't he? I swear if he said anything to you I will personally fly over to Italy and shove his head up his own -"

"Niall! Just listen, alright?" Harry interrupts him in a stern whisper, once again checking to see if anyone is listening to his very embarrassing story but everyone around him is either plugged into their earphones or are too immersed in the horrid task of understanding their exam material.

"Listening" Niall puts a finger over his mouth and sits stock still in the uncomfortable wooden chair. Harry gives him an appreciative nod and launches into it then - spilling the horrid truth he now finds himself in with trembling lips and animated hands, and Niall doesn't interrupt once.

See, here's the thing; Harry has this cousin that's getting married next week, and up until now the thought of seeing her marry the love of her life has been an exciting prospect. Poppy has always been like a second sister to him, but now that bubble of upcoming happiness has been shattered spectacularly. He sighs then, weighted and dull as he leans further towards Niall. Harry begins to tell Niall how Theo had texted him to inform him that he would be bringing his new girlfriend to Poppy's wedding, and how he really hoped there would be no discord between him and Harry. Harry had scoffed when he'd seen that text because he knew underneath it was a thinly veiled attempt at hiding his jealousy over Harry's newly posted Instagram photo of him and a very handsome blue eyed stranger. Sure enough, Harry had been right because the next text Theo had sent him had been an enquiry over Louis' identity.

_So who's the lad in your photo? Don't think I know him..._

**That's Louis.**

_Ah, a friend I'd assume? Very good looking_

**He's my boyfriend ACTUALLY!**

( he had been completely mortified the next morning when he was sober and had read over the conversation)

The whole incident had occurred in the back of a taxi cab on his way home from the party, and Harry may have still been slightly tipsy and infuriated at the nerve of someone he'd been romantically involved with thinking they had a right to ask such things. But Harry had wanted to make Theo jealous and make him feel the hurt that he had felt when their relationship had fallen apart.

He wanted Theo to know that he wasn't the only one moving on from their passionate secret love.

But the whole thing had backfired.

 _Can't wait to meet him at Poppy's wedding. You're bringing him, of course? Surely you are if you're serious about the chap. I'll be bringing Chelsea. Can't wait for you to meet her_. 

**Yes I am! Can't wait to introduce you to Louis.**

"You did not. Oh sweet Jesus, please tell me you did not" Niall groans once Harry is finished explaining his ordeal. Harry chews his lip with his teeth out of nervous habit, and eyes Niall with a timorous sort of bashfulness "what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't! That's the whole point, Niall! I wasn't thinking and I panicked because I was so caught up in making him jealous!" Harry whines, ringed hands coming to pull his hair at the roots "what am I going to do? He thinks Louis is my boyfriend and he thinks he's coming to the wedding"

"Can't you just pretend like you guys broke up or something, or that Louis has other plans? Just say he can't make it" Niall suggests with a helpful smile on his face and a very sure nod of his head, but Harry sinks into his chair like a deflated party balloon.

"I thought of that already, but then I'd look like an even bigger idiot. Theo would just love to hear me say I got dumped or that my boyfriend couldn't come to my own cousin's wedding" Harry says glumly, his voluptuous lips down turning in a very sullen pout.

"He's a real shit head, Harry. I don't know why you'd even want to make someone like him jealous" Niall just shakes his head in distaste "he used you and tossed you to the side when it suited him. He broke your heart"

"That's the point! He broke my heart, and I was absolutely devastated but I don't want him to think for one second that I'm alone and single because I'm still pining after him" Harry tells his friend with a determined glare, arms folded over his chest.

He can still feel the sting of fresh heartache rest itself in the pockets of his heart, and it tremors and pierces him like ice whenever he recalls the summer he had spent in Verona.

He'd been so in love then with the sheer simplicity of life and everything that had surrounded him - like fine art, classic literature, the rolling hills of the Italian countryside and of course the sweet nectar of good wine. But most of all he'd been in love with Theo.

Harry supposes he had been infatuated with him ever since they'd met their first year at Eton College at the mere age of thirteen. Theo had been confident and clever, with well practised manners and an eloquence about him that reminded Harry of another time in history where the aristocracy wasn't so well blended into society. He was handsome and lithe, with hazel eyes and a sweep of auburn hair and Harry was gone for him from the get go.

Harry knows he hadn't been that person to Theo, because if Theo had really loved Harry he would have been able to love him without the fear of other people's judgement.

"You really have shot yourself in the foot with this one, mate" Niall sighs sympathetically but his light eyes are flickering as if he has a cinema picture reel behind his lids, and Harry thinks he can almost _see_ the thoughts that are undoubtedly swimming around his head right now.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry questions, not liking how those sedulous eyes of his are ripping right through him with a pondering glare.

"I have an idea" Niall announces then, bringing his body forward across the table "but I don't know if you'll like it"

"Just tell me"

"Why don't you ask Louis to go to the wedding with you? He can pretend to be your boyfriend or whatever, and that way Theo gets jealous and you get your revenge" Niall says it like it's the most amazing, well thought out plan of the century but Harry stutters like a quacking duck from where he sits in his chair. It takes him a good minute before he can speak.

"What? Are you...is that really what you thought up?" Harry stammers out incredulously, and rather loudly. He can feel the quiet library grow even more silent at his sudden outburst, and he stiffens in his chair when the austere elderly librarian gives him a glare that could rival his own grandmothers.

He just throws her an apologetic look, hoping his cherub face and cratered dimples can soothe over his very bad example of library conduct. But she just purses her thin lips and gives him a warning look before going back to whatever it was she had been doing beforehand. Around him the other students slowly swivel back in their chairs and return their gazes once again to their laptops and textbooks.

"How can I ask him to be my date to a wedding?" Harry hisses quietly to his friend "that's utterly absurd, Niall"

"Like this" Niall coughs, sitting straight in his chair "hey handsome, I was wondering whether you would be so kind as to accompany me to my cousin's wedding?" Niall laughs then, clasping a hand over his mouth when Harry picks the pen up from where it lies atop Niall's notepad and chucks it at his head. Harry glares at him with wild eyes of emerald green and his lips seem to have sunken into his face with the way he's pressing them together.

"You're not taking this seriously" Harry scolds him with a grit of his teeth.

"Yes, I am. I've just given you a solution" Niall cocks his head to the side with a sly smirk "and I told you earlier you guys would make a cute couple. Just ask the lad, I'm sure he won't say no. Not with the way he was eyeing you up the other night at the party"

"Louis isn't gay, Niall. That's the problem" Harry sighs, completing oblivious to Niall's comment on how Louis had been fondly staring at him most of the night while they'd been partying "he has a girlfriend, or had.....I don't know, but he's straight"

"Wait, _really_? I really thought he was gay" Niall mumbles quietly under his breath, thinking back to Louis' flamboyant actions and the heart eyes he had been throwing Harry every few seconds. It had almost been blatantly obvious to Niall that the two lads had an undeniable chemistry - even as drunk as he had been he could sense the tension coming from the two of them. Huh, maybe he'd been wrong all along and had just been imagining things in his drunken stupor.

"What if you paid him? Like said to him you'll give him a fair amount if he'd just go to the wedding with you?" Niall suggests then, eyes taking in Harry's face that goes from utterly glum to moderately hopeful in a second. He perks up a little and stops playing with the hem of his black coat, his curious eyes boring into Niall's face.

"Would that not be a bit insulting though?" Harry questions - apprehension now dimming his hopefulness slightly "I mean it comes across a little distasteful, no? Almost like I'm hiring him or whatever....like he's some sort of escort"

"Don't read too much into it, Harry. Just explain the situation to him and offer him some money for his time. He just has to show up. The worst he can do is say no, and then you'll just have to come up with some other excuse" Niall shrugs "just ask him, yeah? Louis is a nice lad from what I can tell, he doesn't seem like the type of person who would leave a mate in trouble"

"Alright, I'll ask him" Harry decides with a sigh, knowing he really has no other choice at all.

"Who knows? You two might fall madly in love" Niall swoons very dramatically with a hand clasped to his forehead and a devious smirk plastered on his face. Harry can feel the crimson blush creep up his skin all the way to his hairline as he thinks about the thought of that.

"Doubtful" Harry scoffs, flicking his hair over his face with a hand to cover his red cheeks "very, very doubtful"


	5. Chapter 5

_**I have the pictures;** _

_**hence I have the moments,** _

_**I have proof of your existence complementing mine** _

_**I just do not have you.** _

_**I simply do not have you.** _

_**\- Akif Kichloo** _

The heady scent of sweat permeates Louis' senses as he lifts an arm to wipe across his damp brow. His hair is ringing with perspiration and he can't help himself from spilling some of the contents of his water bottle over his head and neck. He delights in the welcome cold of it, an appreciative shiver rolling through his body as his over heated skin starts to return to a normal temperature. 

Now that he's standing still he can feel the burn of exertion course through his limbs and he grits his teeth as a particular stiff spasm rolls over his lower back. He had been training with his football team for over two hours, but even long after they'd trailed to the locker rooms and back home, he had stayed and run laps and shot goals until he had tired himself out. 

He's always been a keen athletic but something about today has pushed him even further. As if somewhere in the deep rooted corner of his subconscious he believes that he can out run his own desires or ebb away the niggling thoughts in his heart with sweat and excessive exercise. 

_Thoughts of green eyes._

He draws his leg back then to kick the ball that rests atop the grass, and he delights when it hits the back of the football net in a delicate swoosh. He can't let himself be swallowed once again by his own deviance - not when he has exams this week to worry about, a nagging girlfriend who is returning from Oxford this evening and the late shift to take on at work. Not to mention the fact the theatre is opening _Our Town_ this Thursday night. He's playing the charming character of George Gibbs, and has a hell of a lot of lines to memorise. 

He can not keep thinking of Harry like he has been for the whole weekend. He has not stopped pondering over their conversation, or wondering what had been the outcome of his whole situation with that lad he'd been so worked up over. He thinks of the picture then - the one he had snapped of himself and Harry - and wonders if the ex boyfriend had seen it. 

Louis had almost choked when he'd seen it displayed on his Instagram feed the next morning, but when all those tucked away drunken memories came back to him in a rapid wave of soberness he had allowed himself to gaze at it with a feeling akin to disembodied joy. 

He had even given it a like. 

But now, here in the middle of the university's soccer field under the dimming sun of a Monday afternoon - well away from the tipsiness of parties and the gathering semblance of secretive attraction - he can feel the horrid impact of his foolishness take a hold of him. 

Now because of one stupid picture, and one drunken conversation, Harry has managed to weaken part of Louis' preservative structure. Harry has managed to chip away a chunk of his defensive barrier and Louis does not like it one bit. If there's one hole in the wall - one place of weakness that could collapse under the weight of realisation - then it could destroy everything Louis has ever built within himself. 

He has not guarded his emotions and his own predilections for nothing. He has caged within himself a hopeful little boy with a wide smile and bright blue eyes and has covered him up with a sarcastically brooding and sometimes apathetic man.

It's psychological - he knows this - and sometimes he wishes he could just reach inside his own soul and pull forth the buried and internalized feelings that eat him alive at night. But to do that he would have to admit to himself that those oppressed emotions are there - and he is not ready for that level of admittance. 

He bends down then and picks out a smooth football from the large sack that is haphazardly thrown on the pitch's side lines. It's heavy in a familiar sort of way and he balances it from one hand to the other before placing it on the bright green of the fields landscape. 

Now _this_ \- football - this is what he _knows_. This is what he's _good_ at, and this is what he'll use to build back up the chink in his wall. 

But it seems that yet again the universe wishes to mock him with a mirthful sense of coincidence because just as he's about to kick the ball with the tip of his soccer boot, a tall and familiar presence emerges from the entrance to the stands. Louis' aim is thrown off almost instantly and when he kicks the ball it swivels in the air and soars towards the person to smack them right in the stomach. 

_Fucking perfect._ Just the person he had been trying to dispel from his thoughts.

But Louis doesn't even hesitate to sprint towards him when the boy lets out an injured groan - a rush of desperate concern suddenly swathing his body. 

"Oh fuck! Harry, I'm so sorry!" Louis stammers as he rushes over to where the boy is now doubled over, a large hand splayed across his stomach. He places a hand on Harry's arm, the rough denim of his jacket tingling his palm, and checks him over with eyes full of concern. 

"It's alright" Harry shakes his head of shoulder length hair but his voice is strained and he blows out his cheeks as he grips his stomach. To say Louis is slightly mortified is an understatement. 

"I swear I didn't see you! I was aiming for the goal and then you...." Louis trails off, his voice turning faint when Harry looks up at him through a set of dark lashes. His eyes are the same colour as the perfectly manicured grass they're now standing on and it seems that for a moment the world around him doesn't exist at all. He can't feel anything other than the undeniable racing of his heartbeat. 

"They let you onto the team with a kick like that?" Harry breaks their eye contact then with a shake of his head and he stands up ever so slowly, his long body bowing like the branches of an oak tree. Louis realises he still has his hand on Harry's arm and rips it away like he's been shocked by a faulty electrical outlet. He's ridiculously thespian, he knows this. 

"Oh, fuck off you! It was one off shot" Louis tells him with a dramatic huff of vexation, yet he can't help the warmth that builds in his chest at Harry's gleeful smirk "I happen to be one of the best players on the team, you know"

"Oh, I know you are. I've been to most of this seasons matches, you know" Harry tells him matter of fact, those wild eyes of his looking over Louis' white and red soccer uniform with some glimmer of far away appreciation lighting up the jade swamps. 

"You have? I've never seen you at any of the soccer matches" Louis tilts his head to the side, hands now clutching his slim hips. To be truthful he's never painted Harry as the type to be a sports enthusiast (he just exudes that sort of tortured musician energy and wild classicism of one so very fond of solitarily histrionic hobbies like playing the piano and writing sheet music) but he nods his head of curly hair now and smiles rather proudly.

"Niall and I always go whenever there's one on. I might even have a university jersey that I wear and the schools banner in my room, but just don't tell anyone that. You're very good, you know" Harry compliments him softly and Louis looks down at Harry's boots to try and disguise the blush that he knows is creeping across his skin. 

"Um, thanks" Louis mutters mutely, one hand coming to rub his neck out of conscious anxiety. There's now an energy in the air that flitters through the softly swaying breeze that picks up along the soccer pitch, and it is both awkward and tangible, and Louis can almost taste the unfamiliar flirtatiousness on the tip of his tongue. For a moment both boys just stand there silently, both with eyes that are looking anywhere but the other and both are swaying rather uselessly on their feet. A thought occurs to Louis then as he shuffles in his football boots like an anxiety riddled teenager, that he does not know why Harry is here or why he keeps glancing at Louis rather apprehensively with a green eyed glimmer, or why he keeps chewing his plump bottom lip with his teeth. 

Perhaps this isn't even real. Maybe Louis will wake up in a cold sweat in his dreary apartment bedroom like he has for the past two nights whenever he dreams of Harry. He had shoved each and every flickering scenario deep down within the pockets of deniability that he has collected in his head, and he had refused to even acknowledge the fact that his dreams had been constructed by exemplary lucidity. 

But this situation is proving to be real however, because usually he would have been jolted awake by now. So why is this weird and beautiful boy standing here?

"I uh, I actually came here looking for you. Liam said you'd most likely be here" Harry announces then with a weak voice; as slow as ever but with a modulated sort of anxiety trickling into the sombre timbre of it, and Louis wonders in one sickening second if Harry can read his mind. But that thought dies down like a wilting flower within his mind because...what? Harry _specifically_ searched for him? And had even inquired his whereabouts with Louis' best mate? Harry Styles really came here _looking_ for him?

Oh fuck, maybe this is a dream. Louis has to resist the urge to actually pinch himself.

In most of his slightly unsettling dream disruptions he has found himself running frantically through a world of smoke to find someone despite the fact he has no idea who he's searching for or why it's so important that he gets to them. He can always feel his heart beat and his palms sweat with the crippling fear of never finding the person he's looking for.

However, in his dream he does eventually come to the end of his frantic search, battling from the world of engulfing smoke that threatens to choke him and into a calmness like he's never felt before. He can always see a figure that just rests in the near distance and he gets this feeling all over him that his search is over and that he's finally found what he's been looking for. The figure always turns to him then with an outstretched hand and a beaming smile that always causes Louis to stop his running mid pace out of pure and downright shock. It's always the same dream - and it's always Harry that is waiting at the end.

"You were looking for me?" Louis questions with a furrowed brow and Harry shifts on his feet before answering. 

"Yeah...there's something I need to ask you" Harry runs a hand through his hair and Louis watches the timid movement with a curious gaze. Louis can't imagine anything that Harry could possibly need to ask him that would cause him to be this nervous, and all of a sudden a benumbed trickle runs up Louis' spine. 

"What is it?" Louis cautiously asks, his eyes never leaving Harry's face so as to gauge his expression. It remains the same sort of contorted visage of anxiousness and he purses his lips before waving towards the stands. 

"Will we sit?" Harry suggests and Louis nods to him before they both trail towards the lowest bench to perch on. Harry doesn't speak for a minute or two, instead deciding to use his long fingers to pick at the ripped knee of his black jeans. Louis watches from where he sits beside him, and doesn't let his eyes rest on the fact that his blue shirt is unbuttoned slightly and is showing a smooth trail of tattooed skin. 

"You know you can just ask me whatever it is you need to ask me?" Louis reassures him with a smile, but he can't deny how nervous he's been made feel all of a sudden. His lips are dry and his heart is pounding in his chest and he has no fucking idea why he's this fearful all of a sudden. 

Harry just makes him feel this way. Uneasy and just a little bit exhilarated. 

Harry just lifts those iridescent eyes of wondrous green towards the stands on the opposite side of the university's stadium, tracing over the curved shelters that hang above the back seats and all the way towards the azure blue that paints the sky today with its cool sheen. The sun pokes out from behind a barely there wisp of white clouds, and Harry's eyes squint a little as he looks up - etched in lines appearing near the corners - and Louis finds himself nearly swaying forward on the bench as he focuses on the way his taut skin folds and puckers all the way to his pink eyelids. Harry suddenly looks back towards him then, his shoulders tight with anxiety, and Louis has to quickly pretend he's interested in the pattern on the bench he's sitting on, not wanting Harry to know he'd been trying to count his laughter lines. 

"Fuck it, here goes nothing" Harry mutters under his breath before he turns to fully face Louis, his long legs now facing forwards and his knees nearly touching off of Louis' thigh "I told Theo you were my boyfriend and now I've found myself in this huge mess because he thinks you're coming to my cousins wedding, and I kind of, sort of, told him that you were, and I came here because I wanted to ask you if you would come with me" 

"Wait, slow down" Louis holds up a hand, blinking bewilderedly at Harry who now studies him with wide apprehensive eyes "you told him I was your... _boyfriend_?" 

"I mean that's why we took the picture right? To make him jealous?" Harry points out sheepishly "I just thought he'd see it and get jealous like I did, but he texted me and I was drunk, I was really fucking drunk, Louis. Remember those stupid green coloured shots Niall kept buying us? I must've had about ten of them, I was properly sloshed and I know it's not an excuse but I just know he was purposely trying to annoy me and rub it in my face by telling me he was bringing his girlfriend to the wedding and I-" 

"So you decided to tell him that _I_ was coming to this wedding too?" Louis interrupts him, his eyebrow arching spectacularly and his arms folding over his chest, but almost instantly he feels bad for being so incredulous when Harry's lovely face colours a bright pink. 

"Louis, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean for it to go this far, but I've caught myself in a lie and I don't know how to get out of it" Harry explains desperately "I swear I didn't remember anything, and then the next morning I saw the texts and I was so embarrassed. But if Theo finds out I was lying I'll look like an even bigger muppet. You've no idea what he's like, how much he'd gloat knowing that I've not moved on and he has so quickly" 

"So you think the solution is for me to go to this wedding with you?" Louis shifts on the bench uncomfortably as Harry watches him with studious eyes of wonderful emerald. 

"Look, I'll pay you, alright? I've got money, Louis, so I'll pay you well. It's just for a week, all you have to do is come down to Berkshire with me and _pretend_ " Harry is meek and his tone is dubious like he's beginning to consider the idea to be ridiculous as he voices it "I just really can't face the thought of Theo being smug over me showing up without my boyfriend. Well, pretend boyfriend" 

Louis ponders the thought for a moment in ruminative silence and finds that his head is most displeased with the idea of spending a week with Harry in the affluent county of Berkshire. He's tried to avoid the tall and intriguing boy ever since he'd come across him, because Louis knows deep down just what damage could be done to his emotional support system if he is to ever let Harry get too close. But now in the past couple of days Harry has wriggled his way into Louis' life and his dreams, and now he wants him to be his date to a family wedding? 

"Harry, you know I'm not...I'm not...you know..." Louis stammers out, feeling as if hot acid is crawling up his throat and blocking his words. 

"Gay" Harry finishes for him; dark brows furrowed in what looks like a shadow of annoyance "you know you can say it, right? It's not going to poison you or insult me. It's a _word_. Besides, I know you're not gay. But Theo doesn't know that"

"I don't know if this is the best idea" Louis states stiffly, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. 

"You wouldn't even have to touch me, you know like hold my hand or anything, if that makes you more comfortable. I mean just be there with me and I'm sure that'll do the job" Harry explains and suddenly Louis feels a surge of fluttering nervousness crowd his stomach at the thought of _touching_ Harry "like I said I'll pay you well. A couple of grand or more, we can negotiate the cost another time if you want" 

"Can I think about it?" Louis suddenly blurts out, and with his words Harry's face breaks into a half sort of grin.

It isn't a refusal of any kind, and a cruel voice curses Louis from the back of his mind for even contemplating such a proposal. He should just tell Harry to get lost, to never speak to him again for requesting such an absurd favour. He barely knows Harry and the boy wants him to go to an important family event? 

But something about the desperate look in Harry's eyes and the way he seems so genuinely distressed is what causes Louis to even store the thought in his head for consideration. He seems shocked at himself that the money hadn't even been the reason as to why he'd just announced his contemplation. 

"Yeah, yeah sure! Of course! I'll just need to know by the end of the week if that's okay? Poppy, my cousin, has everyone listed with a plus one so it's not really detrimental to inform her for numbers. But I'd like to know so I can come up with some excuse if I'm going alone" Harry explains with a soft smile and Louis gives him an understanding nod of his head. 

"Um, alright yeah. I'll let you know" he nods once again as he stands up, running his very sweaty palms over the nylon of his football shorts "I have to be at work in thirty minutes so I have to get going" 

"Yeah, no problem. I have to study anyway" Harry stands also - two large, ringed hands gripping his long hair at the roots as he pushes it back "I guess I'll see you around?" 

"Yep, see you around" Louis agrees as he starts walking back over to his discarded bag and water bottle, but he swiftly turns around to face Harry again, only to find he has been staring after him "Sorry again, for hitting you earlier. Hope you're not bruised or anything" 

"I'll live to tell the tale" Harry waves him off with a hand "but promise me you won't stop practicing? You sure need it, Tomlinson" 

"Sure thing, Styles!" Louis calls across the field as he picks up his belongings, a wide grin betraying his emotions as it plasters onto his face. Harry just smiles widely and waves a hand to him before stalking back the way he came. 

* * *

Wellington is the sort of pretentious place that only certain people of character would flock to on a Monday evening. With over priced dishes, immaculately decorated desserts and a wine menu actually longer than the dinner list it's like a beacon for people with more money than sense. 

Most of the time it's the older type of couples and groups that frequent the establishment during the week, the types who would view the latest pieces at the art gallery across the street or attend the outrageously boring art lectures it put on some evenings. They would arrive in elegant throngs of two or four, with spectacles atop their heads and pearls around their necks and would saunter in to dine in the suave ambience of the small restaurant. Louis always put on his best smile and displays his forced etiquette whenever one of them would order a bottle of wine that cost more than his school textbooks. 

Some people really do have more money than sense. People like Harry perhaps, who actually wants to pay Louis four figures to attend a god damn wedding. But then again, he is the son of a wealthy politician and from what Louis has heard from the many gossiping members of the theatre, his mother is apparently the daughter of some Earl or other. 

Ever since he's stepped foot in the restaurant this evening, he's been mulling over the proposal in his head, and can not seem to shake the image of Harry from his mind. Louis has found himself imagining what it would be like to spend an expansive amount of time with Harry after he's tried so far to distance himself from his presence. 

It could be damaging and very detrimental to the standing structure of his purposive walls, and he could be left perpetually and completely alone within the shell of his crumpled defence.

Or nothing could happen and none of his walls could be chipped away.

But he supposes the weakness that is already curling itself inside of him like an unwelcome poltergeist is indication enough to what the outcome would be. 

His head pounds yet again with clashing opinions because he really does not know what he's going to do. 

"Louis?" he hears someone call him then, the voice cutting through his very opposing contemplative inner monologue. He turns around to see the shadow of his manager appearing in the doorway of the kitchen, and as he eyes him he begins to finish wiping off the table he had just cleared and blows out the candle in the middle with a breathy flourish. 

"Hey, Antonio" Louis greets out across the now empty restaurant as he sets down his rag and spray bottle on the little silver cleaning trolley that has been his only companion since closing time. He really had not wanted to be stopped by his manager this evening but had just wanted to head home, take a nice hot shower and go to bed with a cup of tea. The restaurants clean, the till has been counted and its contents written down in the black leather ledger that always rests behind the counter and Louis has looked back over every piece of cutlery to make sure they're clean for tomorrow. He's officially finished his shift, but somehow the promise of home and its comfort doesn't rest so easily within the heavy atmosphere that is now all of a sudden cloaking him. 

"Can we talk for a minute?" the Italian man asks him, his deep set brow furrowing a little. Louis bristles uncomfortably and stalls his fingers that are now untying his uniform apron that holds his little notepad and pen for taking orders. He doesn't have a good feeling in his gut, but he nods carefully anyway. 

"Yeah, sure" Louis says and Antonio pulls out a chair that sits behind the table closest to them and plonks his large body onto it, the wooden legs of the curved back chair creaking just a little. He rests a ringed hand atop his rounded stomach and uses the other to scratch the top of his head, his fingers getting lost in the thick mass of obsidian black. Louis pulls out the opposite chair and sits down rather timidly. 

Antonio is not, and has never been intimidating in any sort of way - he literally is the epitome of the term _gentle giant_ and has been nothing but kind to Louis ever since he'd wandered into Wellington last year looking for a job. Overall he's been the sort of boss one could only hope to work for, but right now he's exuding a sort of energy that has made Louis' stomach turn nervously.

"I...there's no easy way to say this to you, Louis...I've gone over the books many times but I just can't afford to keep you on full time" Antonio sighs out his words like one long sentence but Louis manages to catch on to every word. 

"Are you serious?" Louis stammers out rather breathlessly, not really wanting to believe what he's just heard.

He loves this job, as hard and busy as it may be sometimes. But he's found a good rhythm here with his colleagues; he likes Marvin, the middle aged pastry chef that always leaves treats for Louis to take home and he gets on really well with Leigh-Anne, another of the waiting staff who is always smiling and joking around. Louis always tells her how he wishes she went to his university. 

"You know that Kate is coming back from maternity leave next week and with her being back I just don't have as many hours for you. I'm really sorry, Louis" Antonio tells him with a regretful look, and it sort of helps soothe the pain to think that his boss genuinely cares about him "I'll still have part time hours for you, two days a week, and I'll let you do cover work whenever anyone is out on holidays" 

"Yeah, that's great, Antonio" Louis manages to smile despite the fact his heart is sinking in his chest. Two days a week? That's all he'll be working? 

"I'm sorry to have to do this to you, Louis. You're one of my best workers, but you were the last person I employed so you know the rules" his manager solemnly explains.

Last in, first to go, Louis racks his brain, he knows that's the principle foundation when it comes to employment, and Louis guesses it's only fair to cut his hours rather than someone like Leigh-Anne who's been working here full time for two years. 

"Thanks, Antonio. I'd be happy to do some cover work whenever you need me" Louis tells him and shakes his managers offered hand "and I'm still working this full week, right?" 

"Oh yes, you're still okay to do the three late nights?" Antonio asks him, a large hand smoothing over his belly as he stands. 

"Yeah, that's fine. Just remember I'm only working until seven on Thursday" Louis reminds him "we're opening our play. You and the missus are still coming right?" 

"Wouldn't miss it" the man smiles, clapping a hand over Louis' shoulder in a sort of affectionate way that one's father or uncle would display. Louis feels his throat constrict with something that feels an awful lot like a suppressed whimper. He's not had much love from father figures in his lifetime. 

"Thanks, Antonio. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? Have a good night" Louis waves as he makes his way to the staff room where his locker is. He trails dejectedly towards it, his shoulders slumped at the fact that he will no longer have a full time job after the week is over. 

How is he going to afford next months rent if he doesn't get another job? He had trekked all over town and had even went into the bigger cities on his last job hunt and had only heard back from here. What will he do if he can't get employed again? 

Sure, he has a scholarship that allows him to attend his prestigious university but he still has to pay for utilities and essential things like his textbooks. He lives in a shitty place in the city because he can't afford to live in the elegant university apartments like the rest of his classmates, but even then his rent is sky high. 

_Fuck_ , Louis curses inside his head as he grips his hair. What is he going to do? He'll have to print off a shit tonne of resumes tonight and ask Liam for help on how to word it properly and eloquently and then go off on a job hunt tomorrow after his classes. 

_I've got money, Louis, so I'll pay you well_. Harry's voice rings through his head then as he stares absently into the dark abyss of his work locker, and he allows his mind to absorb the reality that it could be a good idea for him to take Harry up on his offer.


	6. Chapter 6

**_You steady me and stir me_ **

**_all at once_ **

**_\- butterflies rising_ **

The hustle and bustle of backstage in the small theatre is sparking like an electricity that excites one deep within the soul - it's fun and tangible and has set everyone's mood soaring. Cast members now hurriedly rush off through the side lines to go grab something to eat or change into their next costume, stage managers and crew are now setting up the prop table and dressing the stage for the next scene and the small orchestra are setting up to play during the interlude. There's a murmuring din that is buzzing through the main theatre's atrium that echoes off the small space as audience members chatter in their seats and head to the small bar to grab a drink.

Louis is now walking with a spring in his step, quite happy with himself for remembering all of his lines and delivering a very strong performance (if he does say so himself) and he's quite excited to transition to Act II. He can't wait to get out of his cotton shirt and tight braces, and the vintage style cardigan he wears is scratchy and terrifically stiff in the places it's been starched. He knows the suit he has to wear for the second act is no better (his character George Gibbs really does not have the best fashion sense) but Louis has enjoyed playing him nonetheless. 

"Great first half, Tomlinson!" Louis gets a clap on the back as he enters the boys dressing rooms, and he lifts his head to smile at the taller boy who now greets him with his own wide grin. His face is broad and freckled and the grey haired wig that rests on his head is comically askew while the costume glasses he wears are perched low on his nose. 

"Thanks, Sam. You did great too!" Louis compliments back, heading towards a small table against the wall that is covered in water bottles and opening one with a desperate hurriedness. He gulps the cool water down with a grateful swallow and brushes a hand through his hair that has been styled neatly in a quiff for tonight's performance. He's also grateful for the darkness that seems to engulf the small room, the black curtains that are drawn across the upstairs window and the dark grey paint on the walls are an utterly nice contrast to the glaring luminance of the stage lights that have beamed on Louis for the past forty minutes. 

"We've a good crowd out there, the whole theatre is packed" Sam continues on in that languid drawl of his as he saunters on long legs towards the brown leather couch that sits like a deflated cushion in the middle of the room. He almost throws himself on top of the two other boys who are also lounging across its sagging surface, and he places his feet rather boldly atop the little coffee table that sits in front of it, the action lacking any sort of courtesy "I kept trying to avoid looking at my parents while I was saying my lines. Yours out there tonight, Louis?" 

Louis almost chokes on the small gulp of water that he's swallowing, his throat getting tight when Sam directs his question to him. He wipes a hand across his sweaty forehead and tries to ignore how the dark coloured theatre makeup creates a smear on his white shirt sleeve. He bristles uncomfortably on his feet then as he contemplates the idea of telling the truth (that his father doesn't care about him and that his mother is dead) but he can't seem to get the words out. 

Louis doesn't tell very many people about his life if he doesn't have to, because those memories and thoughts are his own and he doesn't need to share pieces of himself with people unnecessarily. He likes the people who are part of the theatre, and despite the fact that most of them are the same as the rest of the elitist students here (filthy rich and entitled) they still manage to exude a much more engaging spirit about them. 

But he's still not about to spill his entire life story to these boys, because he sure knows if he is to even give them a snippet of information that they'll just probe and use it to further their already formed opinion of him - that he's some poor sod from Doncaster - and they'd only add to that belief the thought that he's a disadvantageous loner from a council estate with no good father figure and a dead mother. 

"They couldn't make it" Louis offers in reply, his mouth set in a thin line as he finally answers Sam's question. Sam and one of the other boys, Elliot - who now picks peanuts out of a bowl and throws them into his mouth rather aggressively - look at him with blank expressions and just nod their heads in understood sympathy. Louis turns away from them then and grabs the new shirt he'll be wearing for the second act - a light blue - off of the costume rack by the snack table and throws it over his shoulders. 

"That's unfortunate, perhaps they'll make it to the next play we put on. I heard it'll be Shakespearean next, but one can not be too sure. Sandy is always changing her mind about what performances to do" Sam waves a hand around as he speaks about the theatre's creative director, a Drama major in her last year that changes her course of creative expression like how the wind picks up and stops "but I wonder if we would get an audience as big as we got tonight if we do Shakespeare" 

"Oh come off it! People love all that crappy Shakespearean melodrama! They eat up romance and death" Elliot says around a mouthful of peanuts as he runs a hand through his thick mop of blond hair "I'd say my old man would be bored to death though. He didn't even look too pleased tonight when I caught a glimpse of him earlier. He was never into the theatre, even when I was younger" 

"Well I'd say he's definitely bored to tears now, what with Styles playing during the interval" Sam snorts, and his comment gets a round of laughs from the other boys who hang around the room, Elliot's grimacing laughter the harshest. Louis' hands pause the buttoning of his new shirt mid way when the boys continue to talk about Harry - his ears pricking into their conversation. 

"I've nothing against the chap, but my word he's a stiff sort of bloke, isn't he?" Elliot chimes in rather nastily "he's always so serious, and so very boring and -"

"Oh come on, you only dislike him because Tiff has a crush on him and not you" Sam barks out a chuckle, prodding Elliot in the side with a finger. The blond boy blushes up to his hairline and sets his jaw rather tight as he shuffles to sit up straighter on the couch. Tiffany is playing the role of Emily Webb who is George's fiancée, and although she is a talented actress she really could lose focus easily during rehearsals whenever Harry would sit on the side of the stage or stand around scribbling compositions into his notebook. She always blushes like a bloody schoolgirl around Harry and that only ever annoys Elliot whenever the whole theatre group are gathered together, and even now the far away memory of her one sided flirting with the tall and tattooed boy seems to spark within Elliot's murky eyes. 

"Yeah well the jokes on her isn't it?" Elliot sneers to Sam with a glare "because as far as I know Harry is a proper nancy who only likes -" 

"That's bang out of order, mate" Louis whips around then to furiously glare at Elliot, his expression shocked and mouth agape which perfectly displays a downright obviousness that he's never been interrupted in his life, let alone by someone as insignificant as Louis. 

"But it's true! What sort of a chap wears his hair that long or wears that many rings? He's a pillow biter if you ask me" Elliot nudges Sam and both men look at one another with mirthful expressions of pure deviance written across their smug faces. Louis is suddenly filled with an almighty rage that bubbles up inside himself like molten lava. 

"You're absolutely pathetic, talking about someone like that. You're laughable, the lot of you" Louis haughtily quips, his fingers now desperately buttoning up his shirt as his blue eyes scan the room of disbelieved faces. Even the backstage crew who had been minding their own business by the snack table now whirl around to glance at him. 

He doesn't even know what sort of carnal viciousness has seeped itself into his words because his tone is harsh and unfriendly and Louis is not used to displaying that sort of behaviour. 

It's like his mind can not process its own state of reality, and can barricade whatever unwelcome thoughts somehow meander through his conscious thinking; he can clamp his mouth shut when someone says something insensitive about a topic that he's tried hard to steer away from most of his life. 

But here right now - as these privileged boys sneer at Harry it's almost like his mind can allow him to defend the very image he has buried deep down inside himself. Simply because it is Harry; and he can not bite his tongue or shy away from confrontation when it comes to him. 

Kind, wonderful and gentle Harry who always has a smile for Louis even when he doesn't give one back in fears of further confusing himself. Harry who sits during rehearsals tinkering away on a piano or strumming along to a guitar while laughing with the other orchestra members. Harry who is sensitive and who _hurts_ like everyone else, and Louis can not bear the thought of how Harry would react if he had heard what his fellow classmates had just said about him.

In a way Louis feels a slight sense of pride trickle through his bloodstream at the thought that he has just stood up for someone who represents to him the very things he has bottled up within himself. But there's another, crueller feeling that seeps its way into him that chills him where he stands. The very fact that these boys think Harry's sexuality is something to sneer at is exactly why Louis has traded his truth for a false narrative of over practised masculinity. 

"It's only a bit of banter" Sam cocks his head at Louis, his brow furrowed in a quizzical expression - almost as if he can't quite comprehend why Louis would think that insulting another person is anything more than just funny chatter. 

"I think it's well pathetic, mate" Louis glares, fixing his shirt collar and whirling around on his heels "I'm taking a walk"

* * *

The soft sounds of the piano notes lift gently like the fluttering ascent of a butterfly - beautiful and tranquilly mesmerising - and it breezes easily through the small theatre like a gust of welcome air in the dead of summer. 

Louis hides tucked away, his eyes carefully taking in the scene before him through the gap in the black curtains that hide the chaos of backstage from the audience. They all now sit in amiable silence, their eyes taking in the magnificent pianist before them. Most of them are affluent and well dressed, the small gilded gold balconies and towering pillars of marble that decorate the old theatre providing an appropriate setting for these types of people. 

They're the parents and family members of his fellow classmates, and his shoulders slump slightly when he realises his own family aren't even here. He thinks back to the last time he had seen his father, which had been a whole year ago and it hadn't even been an arranged meeting of any kind. Louis and his sister had been shopping during the Christmas holidays and had spied their father cuddling up to some young brunette while looking in the window of a department store. Both siblings had been enraged but neither of them felt he had been worth their time engaging with - so Louis had stalked away in the opposite direction without so much as a second glance. 

John sends him a text every now and again, like on Louis' birthday, or Christmas or to just say hello, but Louis has never replied and his father does not try any harder to mend the broken bond between them like he should have done when Louis was sixteen. He clenches his jaw tightly as a horrid memory rebuilds itself in the dark closet of his mind, and he shuts his eyes tightly as he tries to stop seeing it. It's almost like he can still hear the loud slam of a door against a wall, and see the enraged glare of his father before his very eyes. 

Yeah, Louis thinks, he definitely is better off without him. For sure. 

But he does miss his mother, and he can't help but feel the aching pain pull his heart to a momentary standstill as he reopens his eyes and looks back at Harry. His music that is resonating deep within the timid soul of himself, is bursting from him with the most gentle vibrancy Louis has ever witnessed. and the sad yet romantic tone of the piano's lilt is causing an ocean of feelings to crash against Louis like waves off a rock. 

It makes him think of those last few days with his mother, and it brings back the pain he had felt as she'd slowly slipped away and left him and his sister alone in the world. It brings back the memory of her soft smile and gentle eyes, and how she'd always loved him for who he was or who he could have been - until trauma and self hatred had buried that boy inside a dark crypt of bitter memories. 

God, he misses her, and Harry's hands that are running over the keys of the piano are somehow emulating an artists brush stroke on a canvas - painting a picture of Louis' feelings and memories to display before his very eyes. 

He lets his eyes trail back to the audience then and his heart seems to calm a little when he spies Liam sitting with Niall near the front row, both boys intent on Harry's performance, and he can't help but smile widely to himself as he takes in the sight of his best friend. Liam would always support Louis' theatrical endeavours no matter what. 

He turns his studious gaze back to Harry then, who is like some sort of Renaissance maestro or an emotive tragic poet who uses music as sonnets, and Louis can't help but awe at him. He sits against the stages setting of navy blue and under the silvery overhead lights, his eyes closed and his talented hands tinkering along the piano keys like this colossal instrument is a part of him - like some other limb or organ that he depends on. Louis has been playing the piano since he was four (he had insisted with his mother to let him join lessons when he'd gotten tired of using the toy keyboard he'd gotten for Christmas) but he doesn't recognise the piece Harry is playing. 

Perhaps it's an original? That does seem fitting since Louis knows Harry is studying music as his major. The tone of the piece is both melancholy and optimistic, like the stirring arrival of a spring breeze that shatters the last cold kiss of winter. Louis can feel his heart constrict in an unwelcome manner as he continues to stare at him, completely and utterly enamoured with how the stage lights bounce off of Harry's sculpted face and how peaceful he looks in this moment. 

Louis thinks back to what those idiots had said about Harry in the dressing room, and suddenly he feels a rushing wave of responsibility cloud him. He barely knows Harry beyond a mere acquaintance of sorts, and yet Louis knows he would be ready to defend him against any situation. That thought alone threatens to make him breathless and unstable on his feet. 

Perhaps agreeing to this wedding thing is a bad idea. 

"Hey, you" Louis hears from behind him, and he whips around rather swiftly, completely ripped away from his train of thought. 

It's Christina - and Louis' heart plummets somewhere near his stomach when he sees her. Her charming face is broken into a large smile and her dark eyes are eyeing over him expectantly, as if she's waiting for some sort of romantic or exuberant greeting. But all the action that Louis can muster up is an awkward shuffle of his feet and an anxious combing of his fingers through his hair. 

A boy playing the piano has managed to rouse more emotion in him than his own girlfriend. He's utterly pathetic. 

"Oh, hey. I didn't know they let the audience back here" Louis comments rather dumbly, not knowing what else to say, but Christina just continues to smile with white teeth. 

"I might have slipped through without anyone noticing" she says with a wink, her hands twirling around the ends of her hair "you've been brilliant so far" 

"You've liked it then?" Louis asks her, noticing that Harry's piece is building softly in the background. Louis wishes Tina could just go away so he can continue listening to Harry's music without being interrupted, but she doesn't look like she's going to budge. 

"Oh yeah, definitely. It's really good. So how've you been doing? Have you been up to anything interesting?" Christina asks him, a dark brow rising as she looks him over. 

"Um I've been alright, yeah. Been up to...nothing really. Just working, you know the usual. How was Oxford?" Louis asks her, deciding to steer the conversation away from himself. He doesn't want to tell her about Harry asking him to go to a wedding as his date, or how he's practically jobless. God only knows she'd freak out. 

"It was great! I have a call back in the next few weeks so I'm pretty excited" she tells him, her dull eyes sparkling up at him. 

Sometimes he wishes his heart would misbehave around her - he wishes it would crash so violently against his chest that it would make him sick. He wishes he romanticised every single one of her features or that his hands would shake when she stood close to him. But all he ever feels is a numb, dull ache that causes his heart to crash in a completely different way than it's supposed to with someone you love. 

But looking at her here now in front of him, Louis guesses he doesn't love her at all. 

"Hey, you alright?" he hears her voice and it sounds dull and faraway, and all he does is blink rather stupidly at her for a moment before he speaks again. 

"Yeah, I'm great, Tina. Just a little nervous for the second act, I guess. My head's all over the place" Louis lies expertly, which causes a cold feeling to wash over him. He hates being a liar and he hates stringing her along, but the more dominant and controlling part of his mind will not relinquish it's hold on this façade he seems so determined to keep up. 

"I'll let you go then, Louis. But could we meet up, maybe tomorrow for coffee? I think we have a few things to talk about" she asks with a determined cock of her head. 

"You're not going to Ed's party then?" Louis asks, his blasé tone trying to hide his hopefulness. He feels like a right prick. What kind of boyfriend is he? But then again he still isn't entirely sure if he is her boyfriend anymore, but he'll sure find out tomorrow when they talk about whatever shambles of a relationship they're in. But he's been looking forward to having a few drinks with Liam, and catching up with Niall at Ed's house party so he really hopes Tina isn't intent on attending. 

"I'm staying with Georgia tonight. I don't have classes tomorrow so we're just going to have a catch up. I haven't seen her in forever" Tina says, referring to her older sister who lives in a swanky penthouse in the city. She's an editor for some fashion magazine and is always flitting to and from New York like a tennis ball. Louis has only ever met her once before, which had been at a luncheon in some posh bistro that she'd arranged for Tina's birthday. Georgia had done nothing but furiously type on a Blackberry with perfectly manicured nails the whole time and complain about editorial spreads and how Italian fashion is much more diverse than British. 

"Alright, well have fun" Louis tells her, relief washing over him at the thought that he'll be rid of her for one more night "what time do you want to see me tomorrow?" 

"How about eleven? I've got dance lessons at twelve. We'll meet at the campus coffee shop, yeah?" Tina suggests kindly, her eyes intently studying Louis' face. He tries to smile back at her but he can feel how it must look forced just by the tightness in his cheeks and the rigid set of his jaw. 

"Sure thing. See you then" Louis waves at her before she whirls around in a flurry of brown curls towards the back entrance that leads to the seating area, and then she's gone. 

By the time Louis collects his thoughts and rearranges his mind, Harry has finished his interval piece and the stage crew is now dimming the lights and drawing back the curtains - but the audience appreciative applause builds behind the thick scarlet red of the heavy drapery. Louis watches as Harry takes a bow just before he's completely hidden behind the mass of the theatre curtain and Louis contemplates staying where he is as Harry begins to walk backstage - but the pessimist inside of himself wills him to move, and sure enough Louis finds himself once again trailing away from the boy that lives in his dreams and towards the dressing rooms. 

* * *

Ed's place is part of the luscious university apartment buildings that swarm the campus grounds, and the living room seems to be bigger than the entirety of Louis' tiny flat. He shares it with another two room mates who seem to be just as infatuated with music as Ed clearly is - there's vinyl records everywhere, Louis has counted eight guitars stocked up along the walls and a keyboard in one corner of the flat and a petite grand piano in another. There's also a professional looking DJ dock that a rather high looking blond guy fiddles around with. The sound of awful noughties dance music is now swarming the elegant space with its raucous thumps, and Louis has to almost shout over it every time he speaks. 

The place is also packed with his classmates and fellow theatre members, and the open plan kitchen is swarmed with gyrating bodies and tipsy girls who laugh about nothing, and he's pretty sure Sam had puked into Ed's plant pot not five minutes ago. 

Louis has never seen posh people act so outrageously normal. If he just ignores their blatant expensive attire and the fact that he's standing in an apartment worth more than his whole savings account - then he can almost imagine he's back in Doncaster at some random persons house party. There had always been some sort of block party back in Donny most weekends, and Stan (his childhood friend) would always drag him along to them promising they'd have the time of their life. Most of the time they had gotten too drunk to remember anything and had ended up laughing hysterically with one another as they'd stumble to the McDonalds on Baxter Gate. He misses Stan immensely and wishes he was here and not off in California on a work visa. He FaceTime's him a lot and sends rather chirpy texts but it's not the same as having him around. 

Louis wonders then what Stan would think of this place and these people. 

He could just imagine Stan's face if he met Liam - who's the son of one of the most well known business men in Britain and who speaks so eloquently it's like he's from a different time, or Harry who's father is tipped to be the country's next Prime Minister. He would probably feel like he's stepped into another world, and Louis smiles around his beer bottle at the thought of it. 

He shakes his head with a laugh then as Niall Horan calls him from across the room, pointing towards a large bottle of Tia Maria with a suggestive eyebrow raise. Louis is not getting shit faced tonight, he's decided. He's quite content with his rather bland and slightly warm beer but Niall seems to not be intent on allowing his new friend his desires because he grabs a handful of shot glasses from the kitchen island and hurries over to Louis who sits perched on the countertop beside an utterly tipsy Liam. 

Louis has grown rather fond of the Irish lad these past couple of weeks, and appreciates the fact that Niall has actually become real friends with Louis ever since the night of the party at the hotel. He'd drunkenly slurred promises of friendship that night, and Louis had been wrong to assume it was a meagre declaration due to over consumption of alcohol - he had thought that Niall would forget about him, but ever since then the lad has followed Louis on all social media and has not relented in sending him the funniest memes and jokes. 

Despite the fact Niall's father is ranked the number one golf player in the world, and his mother is the heiress to a chain of Irish department stores, he shows absolutely no airs and graces about himself. Louis would even go as far as saying that he himself probably has more manners than Niall Horan. The lad is utterly unaware of his own affluence and barrages around like a stumbling buffoon - and even now as he hurries towards Louis he nearly slips in a pool of spilled wine and curses rather crudely. 

"Louis! Here lets do some shots, yeah?" he puffs out his red cheeks with an almighty grin and Louis can't help but match it. His Irish charm is infectious. From beside him Liam whirls around, totally disregarding the brunette he was just chatting up, and looks between his two friends with bright eyes. 

"Shots, eh? I'm up for that! This beer is doing nothing for me" he holds out a hand to take the bottle from Niall, but the other lad guards it close to his chest like a dragon coveting its gold. 

"Doing nothing for you? Liam you're so fucking drunk right now it's hilarious" Louis barks out a laugh as he takes in Liam's bleary eyes and inebriated smile "I think you're forgetting about the four glasses of vodka you had in mine before we came here" 

"Oh yeah" Liam says rather slowly with a concentrated expression on his face, his brows furrowed and his eyes far away as if he's thinking about the memory of getting sloshed in Louis' flat before stumbling towards the campus. 

"Anyway, fill us up, Horan!" Louis gestures towards the shot glasses but Niall looks around the crowded and noisy apartment with a frown. 

"Where's Harold? I want him to do some shots with us. We'll toast to our new friendships, yeah?" Niall childishly announces with a gleaming shimmer in his light eyes. 

"He's over talking to...what's his name...oh yeah, _Shawn_ " Liam drunkenly stumbles over his words but he emphasises Shawn's name with a seductive eyebrow wiggle that creates a tight feeling to bloom in Louis' chest. He looks over to where Liam points and sure enough, there Harry sits, right under the large window on a rather plush looking couch, the fairy lights hanging around the living room making his skin glow golden and his emerald eyes dance with their hue. Louis can't help but grind his teeth when he sees Shawn lean closer to hear what Harry is saying. The genetically perfect git can probably hear perfectly well - the party's not _that_ loud - he probably just wants to get as close to Harry as possible. 

Shawn is tall and broad like Harry and has a mop of soft brown hair that tousles over a very well made face, and his plump lips are now being chewed outrageously by a set of sparkling teeth. He has a slim gold chain hanging down the front of his stylishly open shirt, and he keeps twirling it around long, slender fingers - the same ones that Harry's eyes are now focused on. 

Louis does not like Shawn one bit, never has really. 

He's in all of Louis' literature classes and sits up the front where he can gloat over his less intelligent classmates with his utterly useless knowledge of prose and pentameter. There's a difference between wanting to study literature for the pretentiousness of it, and wanting to bask in the beauty of words because they stir your soul to life. Louis knows exactly what type Shawn is, and what type he himself is.

But he remembers then that he shouldn't give a toss about Shawn or his flirtatious laugh that is now ringing in Louis' ears as it carries all the way to the kitchen, and he shouldn't care about Harry's silly smile that he keeps throwing at Shawn whenever he says something particularly interesting. So he rips his eyes away when Harry dashingly runs a hand through his long hair (he's decided he's seen enough) and he looks back to Niall. 

The Irish lad, as drunk as he may be, is studying him with an expression of undeniable curiosity. Louis doesn't like being observed so he just shifts on the counter top and nods towards the bottle of liqueur. 

"Come on, let's have it then" Louis says as enthusiastically as he can muster and Niall just shrugs, now completely forgetting Harry and filling up three shot glasses. 

"Hey boys!" they hear a voice then just as Niall sloshes the thick brown liquid to the back of his throat, his lips nearly swallowing the shot glass and getting the sticky liqueur all over his chin. Louis knocks his own shot back, a little more gracefully, and looks over its rim to see Ed push his way through the bodies that fill his kitchen. The track that is playing from the sound system sounds an awful lot like Rita Ora, and Louis has to strain his ears to hear Ed over it. 

"Sam's just got a load of green, you wanna come to the back bedroom and smoke it?" Ed asks, a hand running through the sweaty mop of red hair atop his head. He's the son of a music producer, and is literally a musical genius himself but he's also a really nice lad who Louis always has a smile for. Especially when he's offering free weed. 

All three lads nod their heads and once again Niall looks for Harry. The two are so close it's almost like Niall is missing a limb whenever the tall, long haired boy is gone from his side. Niall is an only child though so Louis can understand the depth of their bond. 

"Leave him, Nialler. He's busy" Louis says bitterly, hopping off the counter and pushing the lad along with a soft nudge in his back. He grabs the bottle of Tia Maria from Niall's hands and takes a large gulp of it straight from the neck and grits his teeth when he tastes the strong flavour of it coat his tongue. It's sweet and leaves a nice aftertaste, but God does it sting. 

He follows the boys into Ed's bedroom then, and tries to ignore the fact that Sam and Elliot are both lying across the carpeted floor, already bathed in a swirl of heavily infused smoke. The sour scent of weed hits Louis as soon as he steps into the room, but he plops down on the large bed and eyes Elliot narrowly as he offers Liam the rolled up joint in his hands. Elliot must sense that Louis' distaste towards him has not died down, so he shifts closer to him on the bed, his eyes peering around the room before he speaks in hushed tones. 

"Sorry about earlier, mate. Didn't think before I spoke" he tells Louis with an apologetic glance, and somehow he really does look sorry - whether that's the weed coursing through his body making him look regretful or a genuine shame for being so ignorant, Louis doesn't know. But Louis doesn't feel like fighting with him or prolonging whatever discomfort has grown between them, so he just nods as he inhales a rather large cloud of smoke into his lungs from the joint Liam passes him. 

"S alright. Just don't say anything like that about Harry ever again" Louis tells him tightly, his voice carefully low and his shoulders squared purposely. He looks away from Elliot then to hand the joint to Niall, and as he does his light eyes lock on Louis' rather confusedly, and in them swims a thousand questions that all must concern what Elliot had said about Harry to make Louis jump to his defence, but all Louis does is give a shrug and a small smile. The inquisitiveness dims a little in the blue of Niall's eyes, but it doesn't dissipate completely, floating in the back of his mind somewhere to be thought of later, and Louis is quite happy he hasn't decided to ask any questions. 

They each just continue to pass the joint around and Louis is blissfully unaware of how much time passes, but his limbs get heavier and suddenly he's laughing at the shape of Ed's bedside lamp. 

The party outside is still in full swing - completely unaware that it's host is currently getting stoned behind the locked door of his bedroom, but Ed doesn't seem to care at all, now huddled on his bed with Niall, Sam and Elliot while playing a game of cards. Louis is now tucked away in the corner with Liam who is well and truly fucked - the poor boy can't even keep his head up anymore and is instead choosing to use any surface of Louis' body as a headrest. Louis throws his head back to the wall they sit against and laughs at the spectacle of it all. 

His head is spinning rather dizzily but it's that delicious sort of nonsensical spatial awareness that causes him to feel like he's floating. He hasn't gotten buzzed in almost a month (the last time Liam had come over to his place with a bag of grass and the two of them had gotten so stoned they'd started spouting crap about aliens and conspiracy theories) and right now he feels so carefree and light. 

He feels like nothing matters and nothing makes sense, and that he can do whatever he wants if he only chooses to. But Liam sits up from where he's splayed out on the plush white carpet, his head resting near Louis' ankles, and the next words he utters from his mouth seem to crash through Louis' blithe giddiness. 

"Have you decided what you're gonna do? With the whole Harry situation?" he asks Louis in a whisper, his red tinged eyes travelling over to the bed but none of the other lads can hear them. They're all laughing rather stupidly at the fact that Sam has just fallen off the edge onto the carpet, his limbs splayed out like a starfish and the bottle of beer he had been cradling in one hand now lies upon his chest rather dismally, its amber, fizzing contents now soaking the front of his shirt. 

Louis should probably feel regret over telling Liam about Harry's offer to go to his cousins wedding, since he hasn't stopped interrogating Louis over it ever since he'd filled him in. Every time Louis has seen Liam in the past couple of days, he brings it up and asks the same question, but each time Louis shrugs and offers an answer along the lines of _"Not sure yet, mate"_ or _"I don't know yet"_. 

"I think I'm gonna go with him" Louis decides that prolonging his indecisiveness will just add to his overall inner torture - and when he speaks the words so freely he feels their warm weight on his tongue and finds that they don't choke him like he thought they would have. Perhaps it's the copious alcohol and the psychoactive drugs he's consumed that's allowing him to loosen up a little towards the idea. 

"Just be careful" Liam leans against Louis rather heavily then, his chin on Louis' shoulder and his brown eyes peering up at him dopily. Louis just scrunches up his brow and eyes him curiously. 

"What do you mean by that? Be _careful_?" Louis questions with a giggle "you think Harold's some sort of serial killer or something? Afraid I won't come back to you, Payno?"

"No, you big dummy" Liam shakes his head with a dopey smile and brings his hand to rest over Louis' beating heart, the deep thrum of it slow and sleepy beneath his chest "be careful with this thing, you might lose it. Or break it" 

"What on earth are you talking about?" Louis queries, now thoroughly baffled as to what Liam's spouting on about. The both of them might be stoned and drunk, but at least Louis can still mouth off sensible conversation. Liam, however, seems to be speaking in what Louis can only describe as riddles. 

"Your heart, Louis. It might not be yours when you come back" Liam says gently, almost in a whisper, and this time Louis thinks he can understand what his friend is talking about. He looks down at Liam then with an utterly bewildered expression, eyes curious and mouth slightly agape, but Liam just stares back with an unnerving look of knowledge in his eyes.

Does Liam know something? Does he see how Louis reacts to Harry? Fuck! He can't possibly suspect anything because there's no way Louis has let any of his predilections slip from under the cover of his carefully constructed façade.

Has he though? Has he been careless perhaps?

He tries to grapple with his memories and thinks back to the last time he was around Harry and Liam at the same time. There had been the night at the hotel, where Louis had caught himself staring at Harry quite a while throughout the night - especially when someone had come along and thrown glitter at them. It had rained from the ceiling in swirling bursts of gold and green, and had landed quite messily atop their heads. But Louis had found himself standing dumbly in the middle of the dancefloor as [_Every Breath You Take_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMOGaugKpzs)had played, his mind rather filled with Harry's woeful tale of his heartbreak, and he couldn't quite take his eyes off of him as the glitter had stuck to his cheekbones and embedded itself in his dimple. 

Louis had thought then, amidst an effulgent torrent of cheap sparkles and the sounds of an eighties love song, that he had never seen someone so beautiful before. Now when he thinks back he's sure he had caught Liam staring at him rather suspiciously from the corner of his eye.

Then, of course, there had been the other day at the campus coffee shop.

Liam had dragged Louis to the small and poky café to try one of their new ice tea flavours (Louis had grumbled the whole walk there but had secretly enjoyed the blueberry and apple tea. He did not let Liam know that though) and then, just as they were leaving, a rather tall figure entered the doorway, his cheeks red from the wind and his gloved hands clutching a copy of Pride and Prejudice to his chest. That had been it then, Harry had stood chatting to them for a whole ten minutes beside the cramped little coat rack near the shops glass door, and all the while Louis had zoned in and out of the conversation while he imagined Harry as the brooding and poetic Mr Darcy. Liam had elbowed him in the side rather harshly when Harry had directed a question towards him and Louis had stood there uselessly, trying to grapple with his sense and knock all thoughts of Harry, top hats and tight trousers from his mind. Liam had narrowed his eyes between the two boys bashful interaction then, and Louis had felt himself blushing the entire time which had just made it all worse. 

Fuck, perhaps he's being a little dramatic? Maybe Liam hadn't noticed a thing, and besides there's nothing to even pick up on because Louis has nothing to hide when it comes to Harry, alright? 

"I need the bathroom" Louis suddenly announces, getting up off the floor and brushing Liam aside in an attempt to ignore the lingering questions that have made themselves quite present and loud in his mind. His feet feel like lead when he stands, but he manages to get to the door and the echoes of the boys laughter rings in his ears as he shuts it behind him. 

The party is still thriving when he re-enters the main apartment area, and Louis has to elbow his way past collective groups that dance around the living room and litter the small kitchen with their loud, exuberant and utterly inebriated shouts of nonsensical conversation. He has to wedge himself between sweaty boys and sequin clad girls to get to the long hallway that leads to the toilet - the darkly painted corridor seeming like a never ending tunnel as he finally shuffles his way out of the throngs of guests. But Louis isn't in need of the loo at all, he had just wanted to get away from Liam and his awkward conversation direction, and the outdoor balcony is his true destination goal. 

What is Liam playing at? Why had he said those things? _Your heart, Louis. It might not be yours when you come back._ What the hell did Liam mean by that? 

Then again Liam is stoned, and always likes to get ridiculously philosophical whenever he smokes so perhaps Louis shouldn't be thinking too much into it. But Liam's words have stirred Louis' emotions uncomfortably like a sickly concoction that he can't seem to swallow down, and those words are making the very foundations of his body tremble with something that feels an awful lot like fear. But, then again, Liam surely hadn't meant that Louis would give his heart away to Harry. _Had he?_

Louis thinks he's been rather plain in announcing the direction of his affections, and he's been certain that up to this point Liam has been convinced that Louis likes Christina - and _girls_ like her. Perhaps he hasn't been so clever and stealthy in hiding his true self like he's thought he has up until this point - or perhaps Liam is just one of those rare people that can peer into the windows of someone's soul and truly _see_ them.

That thought alone has Louis grappling for the wall as he stumbles, but he doesn't get to ponder too much more on the topic because just as he recollects himself into someone who looks like they're not having an internal crisis and begins to round the corner, the bathroom door opens and out bursts a rather large and fumbling figure. The person bumps straight into Louis as they trip over their clumsy feet, and out of whatever reflexes that have not been washed away with alcohol, Louis reaches out his hands and grabs the person by the waist so they don't topple over. 

"Oops" the person giggles tipsily. 

Louis looks up then, and in that moment he almost feels his heart stutter to a standstill when he is greeted with a pair of green eyes that look like two stones of unpolished jade, and wide dolls lips that now beam down at him. Harry Styles is looking at him with the most endearingly dopey smile on his face, and Louis is hyper aware that his hands are still clasped around his slim waist. 

"Hi" Louis smiles back, dropping his hands rather quickly and busying them by fidgeting with the hem of his white t-shirt. He doesn't like how all of a sudden his hands are sweating and his heart is knocking against his chest like a battering ram bringing down the door of an ancient castle, and he's pretty sure that if he were a door then Harry is just going to come along and kick his hinges off and leave him wide open for ruin. There's a heavy air in the hallway that is causing Louis' temples to sweat and all he wants is to escape to the balcony and gulp up the night air. But he can't seem to move, too haunted by the spark in Harry's eyes and his own tremendous weakness that is now turning his limbs to jelly. Somehow, he can't even bring himself to break the smouldering eye contact that is being thrown his way, and the smile that is aching Louis' cheeks isn't even fake - it's just come on him all of a sudden like the burst of sun through a rain cloud. 

"I haven't seen you around much tonight" Harry remarks with a tilt of his head, his long, chocolate brown hair flipping against his shoulder as he does. He's dressed in a light blue paisley print shirt and black jeans, and has the grace of someone who has just stepped off a runway - despite the fact he literally barrelled into Louis not minutes ago. 

"I was here" Louis answers slowly, his hands now reaching for the cigarette packet in his jean pocket. He can feel that tormenting green gaze bore into his face as he busies himself by opening up the box of Marlboro's with a shaky hand. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he should just turn away from Harry Styles and never look back, but those muffled thoughts are covered up with vodka and weed and he can't seem to hear them - they sound like the drowned whispers of someone floating at the bottom of the ocean. He knows that tearing himself away from Harry's presence right now would hurt more, so he brings his eyes back to his face and asks in a shaky voice "Uh, do you wanna come for a smoke?" 

Louis doesn't know what possesses him when he's around this boy. He has a special sort of sink hole inside of himself where he throws all of his deviant thoughts and unwelcome desires, and there he leaves them to be swallowed up by darkness and to never see the light of day again. But there's also another part of him, the reckless part, that digs deep inside and resurrects those feelings and turns him into a stuttering and sorry excuse of a person. 

He tries so fucking hard every single god damn day to suppress himself - it's just second nature to him now. But here he is, offering his company to a boy he would steer clear of when sober. He's utterly pathetic and deplorable. 

"You really are a bad influence, Louis Tomlinson" Harry sighs with a shake of his curly head as he reaches out and plucks the packet from Louis' hands. Louis watches rather dumbly as slender and ringed fingers pluck a smoke out from the crumpled box, and then Harry's handing it back to Louis with an infectious smile that seems to light the dark hallway with a burst of light as strong as a summers day. He twirls around rather drunkenly, long hair swishing around his neck as he meanders towards the set of open doors that lead outside. 

"So I've been told" Louis mutters with a heavy sigh as he follows Harry out to the balcony. He's surprised that nobody is out here already, or that there's no sloppily kissing couples in the corner or gaggles of lads smoking away on whatever expensive cigarettes these rich students are accustomed to. But truthfully, it's not that big of a space and it's taken up mostly by a small couch and a round table with a plastic plant on it. It's sheltered by a large grey canopy but the night time breeze still flitters through Louis' thin shirt like a deathly kiss of ice, and he shivers almost immediately as he steps into the night. It's a nice space though, and there's a string of blue and green lights that weave around the metal of the balconies barrier, glinting and winking against the backdrop of the starless sky. 

"Tonight went well, I thought" Harry comments as he plonks himself down on the small grey couch, long legs nearly folding up to his chest when he does, and Louis eyes the space beside him sceptically before he too sits down. He hands Harry the lighter with a hand that shakes unsteadily, and he watches as Harry shoves the cigarette between his sinful, cherry lips and lights it. The amber tip of the smoke is illuminated in his eyes, and Louis feels he might just drown where he's sitting if he looks into them for too long. 

Louis wonders if this has become their thing now, their only excuse for conversation - since sharing a smoke has been the only time they have ever spent alone. 

"Yeah it was good, wasn't it? We'd a good audience though, they seemed to enjoy it" Louis remarks, quickly looking away from Harry as he brings his own smoke to his mouth and lights it with habitual efficiency. 

"You should consider becoming an actor, you're very good" Harry compliments him with a wide smile, but inside of him there is a desire to scoff at the statement - because Louis has only become great at dramatics due to the fact he's been acting most of his life. 

"Definitely not. I enjoy theatre, but I want to be a teacher. English specifically" Louis tells him with a sideways glance "you were brilliant during the interval, you know"

"You watched that?" Harry raises both eyebrows in surprise as he turns his body more towards Louis, and there's a warmth in his eyes despite the ever present allure in them that seems to haunt the very bones of Louis "I thought you'd be back in the dressing rooms with the rest of the cast during the interval" 

"I, um...Well....I like watching you play" Louis mumbles then, taking a rather long drag of his cigarette and feeling a little lightheaded because of it. He's smoked so much tonight and to top it all off he's still a little stoned, but the weight of his honesty is having more of an effect on him than the weed has. He lifts his eyes back to watch Harry grin a rather intoxicating looking smile, and Louis notices how his face has become the perfect canvas for the lights that surround them to be reflected on - his skin shining blue and green. 

"Thank you" Harry almost whispers, a blush creeping onto his cheeks and he looks away from Louis then, still with a massive grin on his face as he closes his lips around his cigarette. 

"So um, I saw you with Shawn earlier. Anything happening there? You guys a thing now?" Louis tries to be playful, nudging Harry with his knee but the boy turns back around with a shake of his head and a curious glint in his green eyes. 

"Shawn's just a friend. He's a cool guy. But no, nothings going on. Why do you ask? Were you spying on me, Louis Tomlinson?" Harry knocks his knee against Louis' in reply and Louis can't help but feel the flirtatious energy that's radiating from the other boy. Or maybe he isn't flirting at all and the psychoactive grass Louis has smoked tonight is making his mind turn to utter mush. 

"Nope, not at all. Just thought that maybe you were getting over that Theo lad" Louis shrugs in attempted nonchalance, but he can't help the feeling of relief that swarms him at the thought that Harry is not involved with Shawn. He doesn't want to care, but he really can't hide his glee. 

"Oh, right. Well, that'd be the day" Harry mutters rather bitterly, flicking his cigarette butt into the crystal ash tray that rests on the table in front of them. He leans back against the couch then and runs a hand through his long hair. Louis' eyes travel to the open front of his shirt that is unbuttoned to a ridiculous degree, and he spies what looks like the outlines of two birds perched under his collarbones. 

"He really hurt you, didn't he?" Louis finds himself asking wistfully then, his voice leaving his body before he can even stop himself from asking such a personal question. Harry turns his green eyes towards him then and Louis can see an evident hurt glitter in them like unshed tears. 

"I really was naïve enough to fall in love with him when I was thirteen" Harry scoffs at the memory of his younger self "We both went to Eton, you know...oh piss off don't laugh at me!" 

"Sorry, mate" Louis chuckles, but he can see how Harry's trying to avoid grinning by clamping his full lips shut "it just seems so typical you know? Posh lad goes to the poshest secondary school in England" 

Louis tries to imagine a younger Harry at Eton College, wearing that pretentious uniform and bumping shoulders with other rich and well educated boys. Eton had the reputation as being one of the most affluent schools in England, and even bloody Prince William had gone there in his day. 

"Trust me, I hated it there" Harry tells him with a grimace, his eyes staring into Louis' face like he's willing him to see into his mind and read his thoughts "but I had Theo, so everything seemed great. We were such good friends and I didn't want to be the one to ruin our friendship so I kept quiet about my feelings for him for a very long time. But last year came, and everything just happened so fast, and I was just so in love with him and I really, really thought I'd be with him forever, you know? I even kept the stupid promise ring he gave me" 

"Guess he didn't think that one through. Giving you a promise ring" Louis scoffs bitterly, throwing the rest of his cigarette away. 

"Guess not. But we live and learn from relationships, right?" Harry sighs deeply as he sits up straighter, but then all look of melancholy is wiped from his face and replaced with a gentle smirk "So how is everything with Christina? Have you worked it out yet? Apologised for not noticing her haircut? Or has she decided to break up with you again for not noticing her new lipstick shade?" 

"Very funny, you git" Louis laughs heartily, nudging Harry's shoulder gently with a closed fist, and Harry joins in with a light giggle "and we're still broken up, I guess. But she wants to talk to me tomorrow to sort things out. Honestly, I think I'm going to break it off with her" 

"Really?" Harry probes, now shifting a little closer to Louis and looking at him with wide, curious eyes. 

"Yeah...maybe. I just don't think we're going anywhere" Louis finds he's rather breathless now as he speaks since the scent of Harry's musky cologne permeates his senses. He smells of vanilla and tobacco, and it's heady and intoxicating. Fuck, he feels high right now like he's just taken psychedelics or something. Long gone is the lazy, languid feeling brought on by cannabis and in it's place is Harry fucking Styles and all the addictive energy he gives out. 

"That's unfortunate" Harry says slowly, but as Louis looks into his green eyes he can't see any sort of regret in them. Louis bites into his lip harshly then, and tries his hardest to control his breathing. Why did Ed have to buy such a small fucking couch? He feels like he's practically sitting in Harry's lap he's that close to him now. 

He looks down and away from Harry's heavy gaze and tries to come up with something to say that could change the subject. 

"That's new" Louis blurts out, a finger tracing the tattoo that rests on Harry's hand. It's a simple black cross, and Harry furrows his brow at the statement. So Louis doesn't notice things about his own girlfriend but picks up on this? A new tattoo on a person he doesn't regularly speak to. 

"Yeah, I got it at the weekend" Harry says with a hitch in his breath as Louis' cool fingertip traces the shape of it, but he pulls his hand away rather swiftly almost as soon as he touches him. 

"It's nice" Louis comments while trying his best to shift his body away from Harry without being too conspicuous. 

"My step dads not been too well lately so I wanted to get something to remind me not to lose faith, you know? That sounds so pathetic, doesn't it?" Harry asks with a rosy blush on his face, but Louis just shakes his head while a rather large culpable lump rises in his throat. 

"No, it's not pathetic, Harry. You care about him, and that's really nice. Is he okay though?" Louis asks, voice full of genuine concern. 

"He's been sick for a while, a long time really, but he always bounces back. I'm sure he will this time too. He was in hospital for four days last week and we didn't know if he'd come home with good news. I stayed with him the whole time, with my mum and sister" Harry explains, and suddenly the pieces all click together. Harry had been missing from school nearly an entire week and Louis had often found himself wondering where he was during rehearsals. The party at the hotel had been the first time Louis had seen him that whole week. 

"I'm sorry. I hope he gets better soon" Louis utters with as much sincerity as his constricting throat will allow. He's been highly emotional this evening - from nearly attacking Elliot in the dressing rooms earlier, to wanting to weep over Harry's piano piece while thinking of his lovely mother and not to mention the fact he's been made artificially giddy from drugs and alcohol. Now it seems that all of that is stirring inside of him a concoction of pure and utter confusion as to what emotional state he should be in. 

He wants to tell Harry that he understands. That his mother is dead and had been sick for a while too. But that would hardly do good to soothe the boys worries, would it? Or perhaps Louis is not ready for that conversation yet. He hasn't even spoken about it to Liam, and he's supposedly his best mate. 

"Yeah, me too" Harry sighs, his fingers running over the outline of the cross as if the small act is prayer in itself. Louis wonders then whether Harry is a religious person, or if the symbol is rather just that - a symbolic gesture of strong hope. 

"I've thought about it" Louis declares then after a minute of comfortable silence, and he knows the logical and more sober part of his brain is warring with him now to shut up, but he can't help it. He knows he wants this, ridiculously so, and perhaps in the morning he'll regret it but right now he can't. Not when he's drunk off the sight of Harry, and not when they're sitting on a balcony spilling truths to one another like they're somehow meant to know each other on a deeper level - not when Louis feels _right_ being beside him. 

"Huh?" Harry screws up his handsome face and looks at Louis perplexedly. 

"About the wedding. I'll go with you" Louis tells him, and in an instant Harry's confused face turns to one of complete and utter joy. He sits up rather straight and abruptly, and turns his whole body towards Louis with a determined stance of unabashed happiness. 

"Really? You will?" he asks, almost like he can't believe it and Louis nods with a smile. 

"Yeah, I'll go with you and we'll make this Theo lad feel like shit, alright?" Louis promises steadily, and before he knows what's happening Harry has his strong arms wrapped around Louis' smaller body. He presses him tightly to his chest, gathering him in his arms and swaying rather drunkenly on the couch, all the while Louis' face is pressed into his headily scented neck and he feels like he might just suffocate. 

"Thank you!" he breathes out in a huff, his breath tickling Louis' ear. Louis is frozen against him and his heart is fighting to be let out of his chest like a caged bird. He can smell him even more this close up and Harry's long hair brushes against his nose, and _fuck_ , he feels as lightheaded as if he's just inhaled the contents of an entire helium balloon. One of his hands hang limply in his own lap but the other has now found its way to the soft part of Harry's waist, and he grips it rather tightly as he hugs him. 

Harry lets Louis go then, but not before running his hands down Louis' shoulders and arms, his fingertips burning a fiery trail along his goose bump covered skin as he does. He's looking at Louis very intensely now, his eyes of bright green glinting into Louis' of clear blue and his plump pink mouth is parted ever so slightly to let out his breath that now swirls unsteadily past his lips. 

Louis forgets how to breathe when he realises how close their faces are, and how deep Harry's eyes are gazing into his. Is Harry going to kiss him? It certainly looks that way, and Louis can't be imagining the electricity that hovers between both their parted mouths. Oh god, what is Louis going to do? Fuck, he's really gotten himself into a situation here. 

But before anything can happen (was anything even going to happen, or had it just been Louis' paranoid mind making up scenarios that aren't even real?) a bumbling presence trips onto the balcony in a rather giggling flurry. Both boys jump away from each other rather incriminatingly. 

"Guys, come inside and see this! Niall and Liam are doing belly shots" Ed laughs drunkenly as he waves the boys inside, one hand wildly beckoning them forward while the other unsteadily grapples with the doorframe to hold him upright. Louis frantically gets to his feet then, quite content to distance himself from Harry and all his wondrously confusing magnetism. He wobbles rather clumsily on his feet then as he stands, and he pretends to ignore how Harry's large hands reach to steady him around his waist. 

But Louis moves quickly before Harry can touch him again and he starts to follow Ed down the hallway to witness this rather entertaining spectacle. If it takes Harry a good five minutes to follow them, and if he returns with a rather disappointed look on his face, well then Louis pretends not to notice that too.


	7. Chapter 7

**_It is in our idleness,_ **

**_in our dreams,_ **

**_that the submerged truth sometimes_ **

**_comes to the top_ **

**_\- Virginia Woolf_ **

Ed's floor hadn't turned out to be the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements, and the next morning Louis finds himself waking up to the dull pain of a stiff back and a pounding head. Liam is curled against Louis' side, mouth lax in sleep with light snores whistling from his nose and Louis almost feels bad as he pushes him off of him with a gentle roll. He sits up from the carpet then, feeling his head thrum in rather disoriented fashion and gazes around the room with bleary eyes.

Most of the party goers had left in their respective groups after the wee hours of three in the morning - all shit faced and messily stumbling down the apartment's staircase, and the flurry of their exits had left a disorganised mess of paper cups, stomped on streamers and beer bottles in their wake. Louis is almost certain he had rolled over into an abandoned pizza box during his disagreeable sleep last night.

Despite the large clear out of posh drunk people, the remaining inebriated heathens had decided to smoke the rest of Sam's grass and sit around in a large circle, laughing and spouting nonsense while listening to Ed's many vinyl records. Louis remembers singing along rather loudly to The Who and if he recalls correctly Niall had even sung a rendition of some Irish ballad or other before they had all collapsed into stupors of utter intoxication.

Louis had also been unfortunate enough to become a victim to his very haunting and mystified dream last night - the one where he's running and searching frantically for someone, only to have Harry appear to him after he battles through a hazy cloud of smoke. He had woken up rather fitfully then, the moon had been slithering into a slumber within the navy sky outside the window, and Louis had felt his heart hammer within his chest like a hummingbird and his mind had whirled like a boisterous barrage of waves. He had then become horridly delirious since he hadn't known what time it was or even _where_ he was for a solid two minutes.

He had then heard Liam grumble sleepily beside him - the sound cutting through the hazy delirium that had surrounded him like mist - and he had been thrown back to reality with a dizzying crash. He had then laid back down on the carpet to sleep once again while trying to ignore the very real presence of Harry who lay on the couch beside Ed, his tall body bent at an odd angle which had looked highly uncomfortable.

It's nearly nine in the morning now (if the clock that hangs on the wall is to be trusted) and Louis guesses he's only had about four hours of solid sleep. He runs two hands over his face when he remembers how he has to meet Christina at the campus coffee shop at eleven, and he finds that his hangover induced headache gets even stronger just from the thought of her.

Last night he had been so surely confident that today is the day he is going to break up with her, but perhaps that had been the vodka doing his thinking for him. Now as he sits here, half sober and surrounded by his sleeping classmates, he wonders if he can go through with it.

His emotions had surely been all over the place last night and Louis knows exactly who had been the person to pick pieces off of his defensive mask and leave him feeling stripped of any façade he's been parading.

He looks to the couch now and notices that Harry is gone, perhaps he had left earlier this morning to seek the comfort of his own apartment, and Louis can't help the dull pang that resounds deep inside of him. But at the same time he feels a capricious sense of relief swallow him at the thought that perhaps he won't have to be subjected to Harry's ever present magnetism. He sighs then, great and loud, and the sound is so weighty it nearly drags him to the floor. Louis' concoction of confused emotions are utterly nonsensical to him, and if he's being honest with himself he's getting pretty fed up with it.

He's weak minded and deplorable most of the time, and he can feel the sharp claws of his inner demons scratch his insides to shreds as they now try to rebuild the broken down barrier inside of him. It hurts just below his ribcage and somewhere near his sternum as he feels that very familiar sense of cowardice swarm through him; pushing down the very real emotion that lies there in wait, threatening to choke him.

He suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

His legs are wobbly and unsteady when he stands, and the dark grey walls of the apartment spin around the edges and warp like an image at the end of a kaleidoscope. He rubs his eyes harshly as he walks towards the kitchen in search of water since his mouth is parched and dry like a barren wasteland. Also, where are his shoes? He remembers he had kicked them off sometime before laying down to sleep, but he can't see them as he looks around. He finds them eventually - the beat up Vans sticking out from under the couch and he staggers on uneasy limbs as he puts them on. 

He stumbles into the kitchen then, one foot still twisting into a shoe, and he nearly stops dead in his tracks when his eyes land on a very broad frame that is bustling around the small space with a rubbish bag - throwing empty cups and crisp packets into it with a very determined efficiency.

"Um, morning" Louis says, feeling his voice scratch against his windpipe. Fuck, his mouth really is dry. Must have been from all that smoke he'd inhaled last night - he had basically wanted to transform his thoughts into a disembodied and wistful breeze of good weed. He'd succeeded for a while. 

Harry stops his tidying then and looks up at Louis with eyes of sage green, a chirpy half smile on his lips, but there's something else that flickers across his face that Louis can't put a finger on. Is it annoyance? Disappointment? Or perhaps he's just tired and hungover too? 

Louis remembers then, that after their awkward exchange on the balcony last night how Harry had avoided him at all costs. He hadn't even watched Niall's hilarious spectacle of trying to do belly shots off of Liam, but had instead stayed with Shawn for the remainder of the night. Even when they'd all sat around and smoked after the party had dispersed, Harry had sat as far away from Louis as he could get. It had bristled Louis to no end, and that thought had caused to annoy and disturb him further.

"Morning" Harry replies kindly though, so whatever uneasiness had been bubbling up inside Louis seems to dissipate at the sight of Harry's delicate smile. Louis drops his gaze from him then - trying to ignore the evident tension that is building between them - and stalks towards the sink to fill up a glass with water.

"Are you really tidying up this mess?" Louis says after a gulp of the ice cold water, waving a hand around to demonstrate the evident disarray of the kitchen.

"Yeah, I couldn't really leave it like this" Harry busies himself once again by chucking various rubbish into the black plastic bag "I'd feel bad if I did"

Louis almost wants to laugh at the mere thought that Harry really is the sort of person to clean up after a party he hadn't even hosted. He really is the clichéd nice guy.

"Here, let me help you" Louis offers then, stepping forward with ready hands but Harry pulls the rubbish bag away and shakes a head of chestnut curls that now hang limply against his face, stuck with sour smelling spills of alcohol and sweat.

"It's fine, Louis. I'll do it" Harry refuses but Louis just sighs and picks up an empty bottle of wine to throw away. He feels an awful sort of guilt build up inside of him at the thought of just abandoning the boy to tidy the kitchen by himself. In the back of his mind he knows he should just turn around and head home to shower and change before meeting Christina - but his feet stay rooted where they are and he knows a part of him doesn't want to leave Harry's side just yet. 

He's wearing the clothes he had on last night - paisley shirt and black jeans - but he somehow still looks utterly captivating and delicately fetching. Not like Louis who is sure his soft brown hair is stood up at all angles and whose white tee is now rumpled and stinking of vodka. But there's something soft and appreciative that twinkles in Harry's eyes as he fixes them on Louis' face, and that look causes him to remember how Harry had gazed at him last night on the balcony - when he had his strong hands on Louis and his chest pressed against Louis trembling body. 

"Just let me help" Louis looks away from him then but he can't ignore the tightness in his chest and the niggling thought that Harry seems somewhat thrown _off_....like he's uncomfortable or something.

"Thanks" Harry mutters as he busies himself by emptying the contents of an ashtray into the bag - a rather disgusted look on his face that almost looks endearing. _Almost_.

They both enter a state of ruminative silence then as they work at tidying up the kitchen, and all the while Louis can't help the bothersome niggle that eats at his mind over the pondering thought of just what has caused Harry to become somewhat aloof towards him - almost pensive. He keeps peering at Louis from the corner of his eyes, as if he's expecting Louis to say something or display some sort of an awaited act, and it's only adding to the tension in the small kitchen.

"Alright, out with it" Louis sighs heavily as he throws down the cloth he'd been using to wipe up a tequila spill on the counter. Harry stalls then and looks at Louis with studious eyes that flick over his face with a very quizzical glimmer.

"What do you mean?" he asks Louis slowly, his words and tone of voice on the cusps of outright confusion but Louis just sighs some more and leans against the kitchen island on his elbows. He becomes very interested then in the marble effect of the island slab, and traces a finger through a swirling pattern of grey and black that flecks the surface.

"Did I do something? You seem a bit off with me" Louis chews his lip, his blue eyes trailing from the counter and to the eyes he has been trying to avoid - but the pull that they have on him is far too strong, and he can't bring himself to hide away from them for too long a time. Why do you care, Louis? Why does it matter if Harry seems off? Why do you care about him at all? He seems to ask himself these sorts of questions all the time whenever he's near Harry, but he doesn't have the answers. 

"I'm not off with you" Harry shrugs in a rather unconvincing way "Nothing's wrong, I'm fine. Honestly"

"You sure? You just seem a bit tense or something" Louis studies Harry's expression with keen eyes, taking in how he's worrying his bottom lip with his teeth or how his eyes are almost flickering with the decision on whether to voice aloud his contemplation. In the end the truth wins, and Harry slumps his shoulders a little when he speaks next.

"I guess I'm just waiting for you to tell me you regret agreeing to the whole wedding thing" Harry's words are breathed out rather heavily, and those eyes of sparkling jade are eyeing Louis apprehensively as if at any moment he's going to disappear into a puff of smoke.

Louis relaxes a little then, content with the fact that he's not actually put out over something Louis has done. The thought of how he'd almost run away from Harry last night had to have come across like a sting of rejection, and he feels a little embarrassed that he'd just shoved Harry away so quickly last night. But it certainly seems like Harry is not bothered by Louis' cold desertion since that's not the reason that has him so phlegmatic. 

"Why would you be thinking that?" Louis asks as he cocks his head to the side, his face scrunching up in bewilderment. He'd agreed to go, hadn't he? Why is Harry now worrying about him backing out? Louis certainly needs the money, and Harry definitely wants to make his ex boyfriend jealous - so it's a win all around situation that Louis can't possibly pass up.

"Well you were drunk, and stoned! I mean I was pretty drunk too but I just thought that it was all in the moment, you know? And that maybe today you'd back out of it" Harry waves one hand around nonchalantly, in an attempted act of indifference but Louis can hear the unevenness in his voice when he speaks "I was just waiting for you to tell me that you hadn't meant it when you'd agreed. Or regretted it, I don't know"

"I meant it, Harry" Louis' voice has suddenly gotten quite soft, and he rolls his shoulders and stands up straighter when the wistful tone of it reaches his own ears. Damn, he's absolutely pathetic and so is that traitorous muscle in his chest that is now beating at the liveliest of paces.

Harry surveys him then with an expression of pure interest and with eyes that seem like they want to jump through Louis' skin and find the soul he has locked away somewhere. He can almost _see_ the thoughts turning around in the green of his eyes, and they now study Louis like he's some ancient indecipherable message that needs to be decoded.

"Well, thank you. Again" Harry smiles then, one of those infectious grins that has Louis feeling his own lips twitching into something similar "and don't worry I'm holding up my end of the bargain too. I'll pay you well for your time, I'm no cheapskate"

"I wouldn't have thought so, _Mister I went to the same school as Prince William_ " Louis mocks him then, feeling a little lighter and more carefree since he knows Harry isn't off course with him at all. It had just been Harry's own anxiousness over an undecided situation that had him acting like a tightly wound ball of nervousness.

"Granted, he didn't attend while I was there. Nor did Prince Harry" he corrects Louis with an eye roll, comfortably meandering around him to pick up more discarded rubbish from the floor. 

"Oh I see, just because the members of the royal family weren't in attendance while _you_ were there it means that it's just like every other school in Britain!" Louis teases rather unfairly, making Harry frown with a pout as he picks up shards of a broken wine bottle. Louis bends down to help him, carefully picking the glass from the floor and trying to ignore how Harry's hair nearly brushes his face.

"I didn't say that!" Harry huffs out, but catches Louis' eyes and smiles a little to show he's not actually that ticked off. He likes bantering with Louis, it's easy and just a little flirtatious.

"You should've seen the school I went to in Doncaster" Louis remarks, throwing pieces of broken glass into the bag Harry holds open "the windows on the bottom floor were boarded up for as long as I was there since nobody bothered to fix them. Proper disaster that place was"

"Must not have been too bad. I mean, it must not have been a bad school if you were able to get a scholarship here" Harry says as he stands up, his hand automatically reaching out to steady Louis as he too gets to his feet. Louis' skin is fiery hot under Harry's fingers and Louis' previously even breathing seems to become non-existent at the innocent contact. His blue eyes trail across his arm and towards Harry's hand that now rests rather comfortably on top of it, and in a flush of utter embarrassment that colours his cheeks pink Louis ends up ripping his arm away from under Harry's hand like he's just been burned.

"Um, well I just paid attention in my lessons" Louis says, his voice wavering tightly in the air like an elastic band that could snap at any minute, but it's clear he's trying to alleviate the tension that has arisen in the room by answering Harry's question. He hops up onto the counter now - the surface completely tidy - and begins to pick at the hem of his shirt as he continues to talk. 

"I knew I wanted to get out of there as soon as I was old enough to understand that I couldn't gain anything from staying in that place. So I put my head down and did every stupid assignment and studied everything so I could get good marks. Plus, I was doing try outs for university teams everywhere" Louis explains "I knew I was smart and I knew I was good at footie so I just needed to use both to get the fuck out of there. Sorry for my language, poshy"

"Hey, I swear too sometimes!" Harry chuckles, leaning on the kitchen island but keeping his eyes on Louis' face. Louis just smiles to himself and rolls his eyes of delicate blue.

" _Sometimes_ " he mocks fondly, observing Harry with a sideways glance "I bet you have a swear jar you use every time you curse!" 

"I think you've the wrong opinion of me, Louis Tomlinson" Harry shakes his head with a frown "but you'll be proven wrong once you get to know me more, and we have plenty of time for that all next week"

Louis feels then and there like his heart has just turned into a balloon that's being blown to full capacity, ready to pop into a million pieces with a sharp pin prick at the thought of _getting to know_ Harry. He thinks then of how he'll be surrounded by Harry's affluent family members in unknown territory, and how Harry will be the only other person there that Louis will be familiar with, and how very possibly he'll learn more about this vivid and intricate boy than he's ever imagined before.

Is he comfortable with the idea of gaining information about Harry that he can quite easily shun away from if he'd just walk away now and quit this whole thing before it starts? Does Louis really want to spend a week with Harry, getting attached to him since he'll be Louis' only ally in his weird world of wealth and opulence?

"Yeah, I guess we do" Louis answers with a smile. So it seems the thought of getting closer to this engrossing man is not entirely closed off to Louis after all. They're going to be friends, nothing wrong with that, right? Louis has plenty of guy friends, like Liam and Niall, and of course he has Stan. But the deviant voice that resides deep down in the murky and confused swamp of his mind whispers to him that this is different. _You want it to be different._

"So my mum wants us to spend Monday night with her, you know before we all travel down for the wedding together. Is that alright with you?" Harry asks him then - his voice cutting off the malicious sneer of Louis' internalized oppression - and he brings his eyes to rest on Harry's expectant face.

He gulps a little at the thought. He knows by agreeing to this whole " _p_ _retend to be my boyfriend for my cousins wedding"_ fiasco that he is going to be thrown head first into a swarm of Harry's family. But spending a night in Harry's own home, with his mother seems slightly more.... _intimate_. Like Louis is meeting a parental figure for approval or something. 

"Yeah, of course" Louis nods then, shrugging nonchalantly as if to shirk the nervous feeling that's stewing inside of him "is she expecting you with someone? Or is she in on this whole pretend thing?"

"It's embarrassing enough that I have to fake having a date, it would be even more humiliating if my own mother knew about it. She'd probably scold me for spending a penny of my inheritance on something so ridiculous, as she would put it. She can be very difficult sometimes" Harry rolls his eyes at the thought of his mother and when he sees Louis' rather despairing looking face he immediately adds "oh no, don't get me wrong! She's a lovely woman and I adore her but she just wouldn't...understand"

Louis wants to ask Harry more about his family and what he should be expecting out of this and how he should act around Harry's well graced relatives or how long they'll be staying in Berkshire. But before he can open his mouth again a rather bright and demanding presence enters the room. 

"Good morning my wonderful friends!" Niall beams widely upon entering the kitchen, his arms thrown behind his head in a stretch. He wanders over to Louis who sits on the counter and immediately stands between his legs, wriggling into a position he finds comfortable.

Louis doesn't even display so much as a flinch as the boy rests his back against Louis' chest, Niall's legs stretching out in front of him and his arms folding over his stomach. If there's one thing that Louis' has learned about Niall, it's that he's quite tactile and likes to be fawned over (especially when he's drunk he turns into an attention starved toddler. He had even sat in Louis' lap last night and had spouted utter nonsense about something to do with golfing. " _Oh you must join my Dad and I sometime! You'd love it, Louis!_ ") 

"Well good morning to you too, Nialler. How'd ya sleep?" Louis asks, throwing an arm around Niall's front. He's well aware that Harry watches them with curious eyes from his position behind the kitchen island. Louis becomes obtusely mindful then of how he had just over reacted when Harry had touched his arm, which is in direct comparison to the fact that he is now not even experiencing a smidge of hesitation in touching Niall.

Even the caged monster in his chest seems to be quite content because it does not dig its sharp talons into Louis' heart or cause him to feel a choking sense of caution. Instead he feels rather comfortable with an overwhelming rush of friendly affection. He hasn't had this sort of tactile friendship with someone since Stan had left for the States. Louis loves Liam like the brother he never had, but their friendship isn't the sort that consists of platonic cuddles or hugs (except when Liam is drunk or mindlessly tired he might sprawl his head on Louis' legs or shoulders). Niall on the other hand, who hasn't even known Louis that long, is completely satisfied to show this sort of dependency.

"Slept like a baby" Niall comments, his fingers playing with the woven bracelet on Louis' wrist "never thought a floor could be so comfortable"

"Well I had the worst sleep of my life, so I don't know how you managed that one" Louis tells him, the dull ache in his neck returning as if to remind him of the unfortunate sleeping position he'd found himself in.

"Well you had a nightmare last night" Niall declares breezily, like he's accustomed to Louis' late night delirium often. Louis stiffens however, and feels a rapid wave of embarrassment sweep over him. Had he been fretting in his sleep? Oh god, he hadn't called out Harry's name, had he? He braves a glance at Harry then, and notices he's already looking back at him with a contemplative expression on his face.

"Did I?" Louis probes then, trying to act like he had known nothing about it. He wouldn't describe it as a _nightmare_ exactly. It hadn't been filled with horrific images of darkness and evil like most night terrors consisted of. No, this had just been filled with an endless world of smoke that Louis couldn't see out of until he saw Harry, and then everything had turned clear and green. So very _green_. It wasn't a nightmare but it was highly disturbing because Louis hasn't a clue what it all means.

"Well, yeah. You were kind of crying a little and I was going to wake you but you jumped up before I could" Niall explains then, dropping Louis' arm gently and stalking towards the cupboards to forage for food.

"Weird. Must have been all that weed that caused it" Louis shrugs, but he meets Harry's eyes again and the sheer magnetic power of them causes Louis' stare to freeze in place. Sometimes it seems that his eyes hold his very soul within them, and it blinks from behind the green now and searches for Louis' own spirit - pulling and demanding for it to spill all of Louis' secrets, but he looks quickly away when his phone buzzes in his jean pocket.

**_Hey Louis, are_** _**we still on for eleven? Meet at The Busy Bean? X** _

_Yeah, see you there @ 11 x_

Louis sighs as he sends his reply to Tina and he hops off the counter rather ungracefully when he notices the time. He needs to get home and shower the night away (he's sure he smells like a horrid mixture of a brewery and a cannabis plantation) and he needs to sort his mind out well away from the enigmatic presence of Harry Styles. He needs to figure out what he's going to say to Tina. Fuck, he needs to figure out what he _wants_.

"I have to go, lads. Uh, Christina and I are meeting up" Louis mumbles, tucking his phone back in his pocket and heading towards the door. He tries to avoid Harry's gaze - he really does - but he fails miserably like the sod he is and locks his blue eyes on Harry's of vivid emerald. Harry nods to him with a smile, a large hand tugging his long hair out of conscious habit.

"Thanks for helping me" Harry says softly as Louis heads to the door, and he doesn't know whether Harry's grateful for Louis' help with the tidying up or if he's thankful for Louis agreeing to be his fake date to the wedding "I'll see you Monday, then?"

"Yeah. Monday" Louis lets himself smile "See you then, poshy"

* * *

"Sorry I'm late" Louis huffs out with ragged breaths - hair still damp and denim jacket strewn haphazardly on his shoulders as he barrages towards the table Christina sits at. She's tucked under a blue umbrella that spans out over a round table in the outdoor area of the campus coffee shop, with a look of pure annoyance shadowed across her face. Louis really had meant to be on time, but he had napped for half an hour when he'd gotten home and his shower that had meant to be quick had turned into a contemplative therapy session where he had tried to make sense of his screwed up thoughts. 

The clock had read quarter past eleven when he'd finally stepped out and he'd cursed utter profanities as he'd hopped around his bedroom trying to get into his trouser legs and shoes all at once. The foot traffic on the way here had been full of obnoxious businessmen and stalling tourists who would pause every few seconds to take snaps of the picturesque British university town. He may have shoved his way here and had nearly gotten run over by a double decker in the process, but he had made it (albeit a half an hour late). 

"It's fine. I got you a tea, but it's probably cold by now" Christina says cuttingly as Louis, rather breathlessly, plonks himself down in the steel chair. There's a cool breeze that flits through the campus and Louis is utterly grateful for it as it tickles his rather sweaty face. He's undoubtedly fit enough to run around for the entirety of a soccer match - but trying to meander one's way through foot traffic on narrow streets while being considerably late for an arrangement is a completely different level of exertion. 

"Thanks. So how was Georgia's?" Louis asks while opening the lid of the takeaway cup and taking a sip of the tea. It's a little bit tepid but drinking it is giving him something to do - the action now alleviating the growing awkwardness he's feeling. 

"Great, it was nice to see her after so long" Christina smiles, a hand twirling the ends of her mousy hair. Louis doesn't understand how spending time with someone as air headed as Georgia could be considered nice, but he nods his head with a smile "she asked me to go to New York with her during midterm" 

"Oh that sounds like it will be fun" Louis nods his head again before taking another mouthful of cold, bland tea. He's not even sure there's sugar in it and then he realises that Christina probably doesn't even know how he takes it. 

"It _will_ be fun?" Christina frowns with a pout, her heavily plucked eyebrows drooping into a crease "you say it like I've already decided I'm going to go" 

"Have you not?" Louis is confused now, and his face displays the depth of his bewilderment perfectly. His head is cocked to one side and his eyes are studiously narrowed on her face. Her brown eyes, the same warm colour as the espresso in her mug, look at him now with a wave of unhidden displeasure in them. 

"Do you _want_ me to go?" her pretty face is cupped then by a manicured hand, her expensive watch glinting under the dim bulb of the sun. She always has on some display of wealth, whether it be a handbag or a ring and it always reminds Louis that she is far superior in class and prosperity than he is. 

"You don't need my permission" Louis informs her with an eye roll, running a hand through his hair that is probably drying in all sorts of angles. 

"I'm not asking for your _permission_. I'm asking if you _want_ me to go?" Tina huffs out then as she folds her arms over her chest and Louis becomes so utterly bewildered in that moment that he becomes silent for over a minute. He hasn't even been here five minutes and she already looks like she's picking an argument. What does it have to do with him if she accompanies her overbearing sister to an overrated city? If she wants to go and have fun then he's entirely happy for her to do that. 

"Tina, I'm really confused right now. Is this a trick question?" Louis runs a hand over his face as he sits up straighter in the chair, denim clad elbows resting on the cold metal of the table "like if I tell you _not_ to go I'm a prick, and if I tell you to go I'm _still_ a prick. Which one is it?"

"Jesus, Louis! For a scholarship student you're incredibly dim sometimes!" Tina grits out with a vexatious huff "you're supposed to want me to be _here_ with you for midterm! We all have two whole weeks to do nothing. Exams are over, you don't have rehearsals anymore. We can spend time together. You know, like a _couple_ "

"I didn't think we were a couple anymore" Louis mutters after a swallow of ice cold Yorkshire brew. He can't wait to get back home to the comfort of his stuffy apartment and make himself a proper cup of tea - he hasn't had one since yesterday evening but it seems like it's been years since then.

"Well...we didn't exactly break up, did we? I just got mad and left and we said some things...that's how it is with us" Tina shrugs and Louis runs a hand over his forehead while huffing out a long overdrawn breath.

He doesn't know what to do. The words are on the tip of his tongue and he could just say them so easily if he could just muster up the courage to open his mouth and spew the truth. The truth that he doesn't want to be with her because she doesn't cause his heart to race or his mind to go crazy. Even sitting here in front of her now that reliant muscle in his chest is doing nothing but thrumming out a pace of pure and utter indifference. It should be singing an operatic ballad about the anguished pain of passionate love but it's just doing.... _nothing_. 

_You're a dickhead, Louis Tomlinson,_ the voice inside his head tells him and he sighs where he sits, shoulders drooping heavily when he's faced with the truth. He really is a shitty guy - the crappiest in the large pile of complete fuck ups and a girl like Christina doesn't deserve someone so inattentive.

But she is easy to get along with (most of the time) and despite her obvious wealth she isn't high maintenance of any kind, and anything she desires she gets by asking her father. She doesn't depend on Louis like another girl might, she isn't entirely affectionate so there's that too which means Louis doesn't have to keep up the tiring pretence of an overly touchy boyfriend. She also travels a lot with her dance troop so there can be days on end where she isn't around to nag Louis with her constantly picky personality. 

Louis could become stuck with another girl who would demand things of him that he just doesn't know how to provide. Like all the usual things couples do for one another - like all of that romantic shit that Louis has no notion of undertaking with a girl. 

"Well I think the whole thing was a little over dramatic" Louis tells her "I mean we both did over react a little. Especially when you threw my soccer boot at my head" 

_Oh shit,_ he thinks when her eyebrows suddenly raise and if anger had a shade her face would be wearing it right now. _That had not been the right choice of words, Louis. Over reacted? You don't say things like that to a woman you fucking twat!_

"I over reacted?" Christina hisses out, brown eyes hooded and her arms now folded so tightly against her chest that her skin is becoming taut. 

"I actually said we _both_ over reacted, I didn't just single you out but-" 

"Excuse me for getting mad at you! You were driving me insane, Louis. I just couldn't take it anymore" she waves a hand around exasperatedly, giving way for the skin over her knuckles to relax once again. 

"You stormed out because I didn't notice your haircut, Tina! Do you see where I'm going with the whole over dramatic thing?" Louis sassily snaps back, sitting up poker straight in his chair. He's glad then that the coffee shop isn't flooded with outdoor patrons today, because he couldn't bear it if there were people around them that could hear all of this. 

"It wasn't just about that, Louis. You don't notice anything about me" her tone is quieter now and her delicate face droops into a crestfallen expression that has Louis feeling very remorseful for even bringing this all up "I mean we met up today to talk things out and you couldn't even be on time"

He tears his eyes away from her then and lets them scan his surroundings. The university campus is charming and quite old architecturally, like something right out of the Victorian era with its warm amber turrets that soar to the sky, its hooded windows that glint in the sun and its gabled rooftops. Sometimes Louis likes to sit here, right in this spot, and picture how very different this colossal campus is to anything he's ever been educated in before. He's worked hard to get here, and no matter how many times he stares upon the grandeur of his Uni he can't quite seem to get used to it. There's a large square fountain that takes up a considerate chunk of the courtyard they now sit in, and Louis peels his eyes away from the front of the Science building and towards its spouting torrent. At the bottom of the tinkling waters rest hundreds upon thousands of tossed in coins, and Louis feels like throwing one in right now and asking the fountain to decide his fate for him instead of having the head wrecking job of doing it himself.

His heart almost stops dead then when he notices Harry Styles walk out from under a stone archway on the other side of the courtyard, the many residence halls lying behind it, and Louis watches him as he makes his way towards the fountain. He's on his phone and talking rather animatedly, that beguiling smile of his spread wide on his striking face. He has his normally flowing hair tied up in a bun and a long black coat thrown over his lithe figure. Louis follows him with his eyes as he sits on the flattened edge of the fountain and continues his conversation with rapt vigour. He doesn't even notice Louis who sits across the way, but Louis would rather keep it that way. 

"See you're not even paying attention to me now"

Louis' eyes snap back to Tina's face like the pull of a rubber band when her imposing voice cuts through his observation, and Louis actually blushes. He _blushes_. He feels violently embarrassed for some reason and almost feels like he's just been caught checking out another girl. Except it hadn't been a girl. Just a very intricately woven person that the weak part of Louis has an infatuation with. 

"I'm sorry" Louis says, as sincerely as he can because deep down he really is sorry for knowing that he'll never be enough for her, and knowing that she'll never be enough for him. But he's just not brave enough to tell her yet. 

"You know most boyfriends actually tell their girlfriends when they look nice, or notice things about them. You never do anything like that, Louis" Tina frowns, and for the first time since arriving Louis actually takes her appearance in. 

She is very pretty - anyone could see that really. Her hair is shiny and has that sought after health radiating from every strand and today she has it slung over her shoulder in a rather intricate looking plait. Her face is sallow and rosy, and the almost permanent pink tinge of her cheeks matches a pair of pouty lips. She has a red skirt on that fits her perfectly and a white turtle neck jumper, and her overall appearance gives the impression of a very well styled, well put together young woman. 

She is pretty. But Louis can never seem to come up with any other word to describe her. He knows there are heaps - beautiful, striking, fetching....the list could go on. But his heart doesn't thrum with these words when he looks into her face and he feels completely inadequate at the thought. 

"You do look really nice today" Louis tells her with an appreciative smile but it doesn't evoke any sort of positive reaction from her. To be truthful it only seems to infuriate her more. 

"I didn't mean you had to say it right now! I just meant in general, Louis. You never seem to compliment me unless I ask" she lets an indignant breath out of her nose "no girl wants to constantly _ask_ for compliments from her boyfriend" 

"I'm sorry, Tina. I just don't notice little things sometimes, and I know it's unfair" Louis tells her but his words are completely empty and he guesses his face remains void of any real emotion too, because her chocolate eyes study him curiously before she sighs deeply. 

"I'm going to go to New York with Georgia. I need a few weeks away, and I think some time apart could be good for us" she announces then determinedly "I want to be with you, Louis. You know I'm crazy about you, but I think if we spend this time away from each other then we'll be able to see where our priorities lie, alright?" 

"Yeah, I guess. You're right, some time apart might be a good idea" Louis adds then more passionately, nodding his head for affect.

He doesn't want to tell her how he'll be spending midterm with Harry while masquerading as his _boyfriend_. He figures saving her from that particular information would be more of a kindness to her than anything, almost like some twisted act of servitude. He also doesn't want to admit to himself that he's somewhat excited about this whole debacle - but he can feel the fluttering of impending freedom tickle his lower stomach as she stands up from the table. He joins her. 

"I'll be back here. In two weeks, and I'll see you then" she tells him, her hands fidgeting in front of her "but for now we're on a break, right? So no calls or texts. We'll just spend the two weeks apart and see how we get on from there. A break could be good, yeah?" 

Louis knows for certain that the fact he won't be able to contact her will not drive him to madness like it might do to her. He can already imagine her breaking on the second day, sending him a chain of _I miss you_ texts. 

"Yeah" Louis answers her with an affirmative nod, trying hard to ignore how the languid frame of Harry Styles walks by in his peripheral vision "a break could be good"   
  
  
Comments are really appreciated guys 💙💚


	8. Chapter 8

**_Can you remember who you were,_ **

**_before the world told you_ **

**_who you should be?_ **

**_\- Charles Bukowski_ **

"I can't believe you're actually doing this" Liam's voice carries its way into Louis' bedroom, the incredulous tone of it wavering closer to Louis' ears as Liam steps into the room with a rather smooth stroll.

Outside, the sun is hanging happily in the sky and spills into the room in broken beams of gold, dust mites flickering throughout the chunky splices of amber as they cut sharply across the floor, and the warm heat of it wavers its way through Louis' open window to choke the air out of his cramped flat. He can feel himself begin to lightly sweat through his t-shirt, but he doesn't know if that's from the growing humidity or from the stressful morning he's had so far.

He had barely slept a wink last night, and had suffered uncontrollable bouts of anxiety that had rendered the brain beneath his skull absolutely useless, and all he could think about was Harry and his ridiculous eyes and his beaming smile with too much teeth, and just what exactly he should pack in his very forlorn looking and still empty suitcase.

He had sat upright then in a flurry of kicking limbs, the white sheets on his bed angrily tossing themselves to the floor as he'd rather exasperatedly pulled himself from under their warmth and into the chilly expanse of his lonely flat. He'd rang Liam then and he'd answered - bless him - with a groggy voice and stifled yawns in between conversation. He'd arrived to Louis' not a half an hour later, with one hand clutching a cardboard tray with two steaming teas in it and the other grasping a grease soaked brown bag that had contained Louis' favourite pastries. Louis had nearly choked up at the sight of his best mate standing there on his welcome mat, all sleepy eyed yet ready to tackle Louis' problems, yet now, hours later, tea has been drunk, copious amounts of pastries have been eaten and Louis is still no more stable than he'd been early this morning.

Now it seems that the entirety of his wardrobe is spilled onto the floor and across his bed - chunky sweaters and band tees scattering lifelessly over the edges and unceremoniously thrown against the wooden headboard - and yet the suitcase that lies open on top of his covers is still relatively empty. He's made no progress with his packing, and Liam has not been much help despite his previous readiness. He had grown exasperated by Louis' very fretful demeanour and downright snappiness whenever Liam made a comment on said behaviour - he had given up about ten minutes ago when Louis had downright refused to pack a Doors t-shirt _(I'm going to a wedding Liam! Not Woodstock!)_ and he had sauntered off, grumbling something about needing coffee.

But now he stands in the doorway with that disbelieved tone of his and those syrupy, walnut eyes that now peer at Louis like flickering flints of carved wood and in them he holds back his amusement. Louis now drags his own eyes away from the pile of shirts he had just been intent on rifling through and towards his friend. 

He's leaning his shoulder against the doorframe and shaking his head of floppy brown hair in an attempt to show his almost humorous disbelief at this whole entire situation Louis is now in - all the while his hand rummaging inside a Pringles can. Louis wonders how he can stay so trim and eat so much all the time - Liam had eaten three of the five pastries and has basically consumed half the food in Louis' cupboards since his arrival an hour ago. ( _Well you won't be needing all this food since you're fucking off and leaving me alone!_ )

"You've said that like, five thousand times already" Louis glares at him, picking up another shirt to inspect and after a second of deliberation he begins to fold it carefully to place in the suitcase "and I called you here to help me pack, not eat everything in my flat. But since you've gotten here you've done nothing at all helpful! I need your advice on what to wear since this is your sort of gig" 

"Hey! I've been trying to help but you're just all wound up today, and all you keep doing is staring at the same pile of clothes without, you know, actually looking properly - and hey what do you mean it's my sort of gig?" Liam questions, removing his body from the doorframe and strolling over to plop himself down on Louis' bed - the carefully made ivory sheets crumple under his weight and Louis almost feels like smacking him on the side of his fetching head. He refrains however. 

"You know.... _posh_ sort of shit" Louis shrugs, eyes flicking to his best friends face that is now stuffed with salt and vinegar Pringles "I've only packed like two outfits so far and both of them are black jeans and black shirts" 

"You know most people don't like being called posh, right?" Liam teases him with a chuckle, and Louis rolls his eyes. Admittedly, Liam doesn't look very affluent or grand while sitting amongst a pile of Louis' mess with his hand stuffed down a can of crisps. 

"Oh excuse me, Mister my father is a millionaire and my mother is a former fashion model" Louis mocks him while aiming a rolled up pair of socks at his head. Liam dodges them with a triumphant smirk "you're posh whether you want to be called it or not. But seriously, mate, help me here" 

"Louis, why does it matter what you wear? Most of your clothes are pretty stylish so there's no need to worry" Liam shrugs then, sitting up and rifling through the heaped lump of clothes on Louis' bed. He picks from the mess of disorganised materials a sky blue button up and begins to fold it neatly before placing it in the open suitcase "bring this, it's nice" 

"I've a few more like that" Louis mutters to himself, turning around and searching through his open drawers and fishing out more button ups and acceptable looking shirts. He turns back around to Liam then, and the boy is studying him with a pondering expression shadowed across his face - all his previous humour diminished. 

"Louis?" 

"Maybe if I pack some blazers or something..." Louis trails off in thought, whirling around to hunt through the hanging racks in his closet. He is so lost in thought that he ignores Liam's call of his name, and he focuses his full attention on plucking a slate grey blazer with black elbow patches from its hanger to inspect. 

"Louis!" 

"Yes, yes, what?" Louis huffs out as he spins back around to face Liam who is now sitting languidly on the bed, legs crossed over one another and a rather amused countenance on his face - his eyebrows raised and his lips pursed tightly. Louis thinks Liam might have little glowing bulbs behind his eyes, because he swears the dark murky depths of hickory brown flicker to warm cinnamon as he amusedly stares at Louis. He bristles a little where he stands, the little oppressed piece of his soul twisting uncomfortably. 

"Would you _calm_ _down_? You've been flustered since I got here" Liam points out, waving a hand towards Louis who has now taken to bouncing back and forth on his feet, and whose hands are now fidgeting with the sleeve of the blazer. Louis stops his rather skittish behaviour almost immediately, yet he can feel how his cheeks start to blossom with a rosy anxiousness under the weight of Liam's hefty gaze. 

"I am not _flustered_ , alright? I'm just a stressful packer is all. I like being organised" Louis shrugs away the growing trepidation in his body with a nonchalant roll of his shoulders, but his friend does not seem the slightest bit convinced. Because Louis has just lied - he's not organised at all. Sometimes he forgets to wash his soccer uniform after practice, until he pulls it out of his kit bag a week later, the white shorts grass stained and muddy, and sometimes he forgets which lectures he has on what days and ends up bringing the wrong books and just sits up the back of his classes like a befuddled mute. He even forgets to text his sister back some days, because something has distracted his concentration and he can't seem to organise a reply within the muddle of his life. He's not organised. Not at all. But he is nervous, and he doesn't really know why he is or how the trepidation has snuck up on him all of a sudden - twisting in his gut like a block of ice and setting his heart to an unhealthy rhythm, and it seems that Liam has picked up on it. 

Liam becomes somewhat cautious then as he peers up at Louis through ridiculously unfair rows of lashes and the silence that he offers is almost like a waited out pause for his thoughts and words to resolve into something sensible. Liam is always careful with his choice of words around Louis when discussing certain things, and Louis always pretends not to be aware of it.

He can see how Liam looks at him sometimes with a curious and almost confused look in his eyes, and it sometimes makes Louis believe that his friend can peer into the dark depths of his soul and slightly unravel the mystery that is his psyche. But Louis has himself convinced that Liam has a studious way of observing people merely because of the fact that he is studying Psychology - and not because he's just a perceptive person who really knows who Louis is. Even if Louis himself doesn't know. 

"I'm worried this might not be a good idea" Liam frowns with a pout that seems to drag all the way to the floor, and Louis sighs heavily as he folds yet another blazer (a smooth black one with silver buttons) into his luggage.

He runs a hand over his tired face then and clasps his hip tightly with the other, his fingers drumming a beat against his poky hipbone that seems to be at the same pace as his lively heart. Louis isn't ready to accept the complicated nature of the circumstance he has landed himself in. His mind would surely descend into utter chaotic destruction if he were to even entertain the notion. He just wants to see it for what it appears to be on the surface level - _a job he's being paid to do_ \- and not the very emotionally dangerous situation it really is. So why can't Liam just understand the simplicity of the task outlined and not probe and prod relentlessly? 

Louis knows why, but admitting it to himself would be detrimental to the hardened shell of suppression that cocoons his very hidden reality. He thinks back on Liam's words then from Friday night and he feels his heart bang against his ribs like a hammer off an anvil at the sheer memory of them. 

_Your heart, Louis. It might not be yours when you come back._

"I'm getting _paid_ to do this, Liam. You know I need the money since I basically don't have a job anymore. Do you really want me to be forced onto the streets?" Louis settles for being overly dramatic then in an attempt to alleviate the seriousness of the conversation, but Liam just furrows his brow rather tightly and sets his dark eyes on Louis' face. 

"I'd never let that happen, and besides there are easier ways to get money, Louis. You know, like getting a _real_ job" Liam sighs while his fingers fiddle with the zip on Louis' suitcase. Louis plonks himself down on the bed beside his friend then and looks at him with a screwed up expression and folded arms. 

"I have given my resume to at least ten places around town, you know. Haven't heard a single thing back so in the meantime I'll be making money by being the worlds best fake boyfriend" Louis answers decidedly, like that explanation alone can cover this whole debacle with a lovely umbrella of simplicity.

But it's far more complicated than that because deep down Louis knows he doesn't really care about the money at all, and possibly just wants to spend time with the boy who has become a permanent fixture in his dreams. He grits his teeth as the thought pokes the forefront of his mind like an incessant poltergeist, but before it can blossom like a buoyant flower he chokes it down with an acidic leer at himself. _You're doing it for the money, Louis._ _Nothing more._ Truth be told, he does need the money - he'd been rather disheartened when Antonio had texted him to let him know he wouldn't be needed for the next two weeks at the restaurant since the staffing shifts were full. 

"I'm just worried about...Harry" Liam's words are careful, like always, and his tone is steady and placid as he speaks but his eyes are jumping all over Louis' face like he's trying to decipher every flicker of his expression. Louis furrows his brow rather confusedly and tilts his head to the side. 

"You're worried about Harry? Why?" Louis asks him, pure and utter confusion swirling around his head like a raincloud. Liam doesn't answer right away though and instead just looks at his feet as they toe the grey carpet of Louis' floor. 

"I'm just thinking that maybe...Harry...might have...feelings for you" Liam says then and his softly spoken words seem to snuff all the air out of the room and leaves Louis' lungs heaving to obtain just the smallest amount of oxygen. Louis shifts on the bed then, once...twice...three times, and when he can't seem to sit still he hops up from the edge and acts like clearing away the pile of clothes on his floor is the most important thing in the world. 

"Don't be daft, Liam. Harry and I are friends" Louis shakes his head with an eye roll but he can hear the way his voice shakes unevenly when it reaches his ears. 

"I think he has feelings for you but I think he doesn't _know_ he has feelings for you. Perhaps this whole thing is going to make him _realise_ it, and maybe he'll get hurt. It's hard to realise something sometimes, _you know_?" Liam notes with a fixed stare on Louis, and he freezes on the spot as his words sink in. He's not entirely sure Liam _is_ talking about Harry. He's looking too deep into Louis' eyes, almost willing him to understand, to be talking about Harry. Louis swallows thickly then and finds his throat is incredibly tight. 

"You know you sound ridiculous, right?" Louis scoffs then, tossing underwear and socks into the case on his bed while avoiding Liam's studious gaze. 

"Maybe" is the only answer Liam gives, and Louis knows from the deafening silence that follows that the topic has been dropped. But there's a gnawing inside of Louis that's bone deep and feels like a permanent itch that he just can't get to, and Liam's words crawl through the open wounds in his skin and lick with tongues that are coated in salt. He can't seem to shake them and the thought that he's been so transparent when he has tried so hard to be inconspicuous is a bitter realisation that stings like the wound of a knife. 

The air seems to settle around him then, returning to its heady waft of humidity and replacing the choking non-existent oxygen that had seemed to hang around Louis' head like a plastic bag intent on suffocating him. Liam seems to forget he ever brought anything up as he stands and helps Louis finish packing and tidying. Louis is now quite pleased with the contents of his luggage, and he feels as if he's packed enough suitable outfits that will be acceptable to wear amongst people who are probably not usually accustomed to wearing scuffed Adidas trainers and ridiculously tight jeans. 

"Thanks again, Liam" Louis says as he walks his friend to the door, a wide and fond smile on his face, but Liam just regards Louis with the poutiest look. 

"I can't believe I'm going to be alone for a _week_ without you. Who's going to watch Gogglebox with me now?" Liam huffs out completely seriously, but Louis only laughs while smacking a hand on his shoulder. 

"I think you'll survive without me for a week, Liam. Besides I don't know why you're staying here for midterm when you could go home" 

"My parents are vacationing in France, so I'd just be alone at home which would be totally pointless" Liam explains and Louis scoffs playfully with an eye roll. 

"All alone in a mansion. Doesn't seem too bad to me" he laughs but Liam ignores him as he walks to the door. Louis hangs back and fishes out the spare key from the drawer of the small table that rests in the narrow hallway "you'll remember to water my plants, right? I'm quite fond of my gardenias" 

"Yes, I'll remember. I won't have much else to do. You know since my best mate is leaving me _alone_ here" Liam snaps cheekily, but his lips twitch at the sides like he wants to smile. 

"Poor you, he sounds like a right dickhead. Think you need new friends" Louis laughs, dodging Liam's fist that aims to playfully hit his arm. He takes the key from Louis' outstretched hand though and pockets it. 

"Very funny. But don't worry about your gardenias, I'll take care of them" Liam promises heartily "and keep me posted while you're gone, yeah? I want to know how everything goes" 

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry I will" Louis nods with a smile as Liam opens the door and steps out onto the fourth floor hallway "I'll see you soon mate, yeah? Enjoy the peace and quiet without me" 

"See you soon, Louis. Take care of yourself" Liam pulls him into a hug then that's warm and leaves Louis feeling a little guilty that he's just abandoning him to live in an almost empty university campus for a week. They probably should have been spending their midterm in a coexisting balance of lounging around doing absolutely nothing and getting stupidly drunk in the city's clubs. 

He lets Louis go then and with one last smile and an affectionate nod of the head Liam disappears around the dimly lit corner, leaving a ghostly silence in his wake that already has Louis missing him. He shuts the door then with a click and turns around to face his now impeccably tidy apartment, his eyes scanning over every surface as if he's trying to memorise the lines and curves of his boxy flat. 

"Alright, Louis" he says to himself while trying to ignore the unsettling edge that lingers deep in the pockets of his lungs, stealing the air and making it hard to breathe each time he tries "You can do this" 

* * *

It turns out to be a short walk to Harry's apartment, and Louis takes his time as he languidly strolls through the picturesque cobbled streets of town, and he especially enjoys how the sun is beating down on him through the thick mass of trees that wind towards the sky, their roots dug deep into the soil of the park that lays on the outskirts of the ridiculously large Victorian university campus. It's normally either raining or gusting wind in Britain, but the endearing promise of summer is slowly breaking through the delicate hold of spring and it's caused Louis' mood to brighten just a little - the vermillion kiss of the hot sun causing some of his anxiety to melt away. 

Louis' suitcase drags behind him, its old wheels dully groaning and it bumps over the uneven cracks in the pavements as he walks and he cringes as he thinks of how his neatly folded shirts are probably rolling around haphazardly together. But he doesn't worry about it too much, not wanting the little semblance of peace he's managed to gather within himself to dissipate over something as trivial as a creased dinner shirt - but he finds he can't possibly think of it, can't think of _anything_ really when he eventually walks under a stone archway and into the courtyard of Harry's apartment hall.

Because suddenly it's Harry's building he's staring at - Harry actually _lives_ up there in one of those rooms with the glinting windows and the glaringly white sashes - he walks around up there, sleeps, breathes, and _exists_ in this place and he isn't just a figment of Louis' very warped imagination and now Louis' actually going to knock on his door and stand in his flat...and it's all just a bit mental really. 

But he takes a deep breath, and tries desperately not to notice how his hand is now gripping onto the handle of his suitcase painfully, or how his lips are suddenly dry, and how all existing blood in his body has rushed towards his head. He just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, the grimacing sound of his suitcase wheels deafening the unwanted thoughts in his head. He just walks on, along the neatly paved pathway, past a couple who are sharing earphones under the shadow of a white ash tree and past a group of girls who huddle near a stone bench and table, exuding the rich aesthetic of dark academia with their tartan print trousers, horn rimmed glasses and dog eared copies of Romantic era poetry in their hands. 

So Louis ambles on, finding somehow that his footsteps have gotten slower - it's almost like he never wants to reach the front door of Harry's building or something - but he breathes in and out and takes in the wondrous splendour of the grand apartment block before him. He never does venture this far around campus since most of his lectures are in the Literature building at the front of the school, and he can admit that even though he's slightly afraid of what waits for him behind its stained glass double doors, it is rather pleasant to look at. 

It's a towering mass of gold brick and pointed turrets that nearly split the sun with their sharp tips, and a massive porch juts out the front of the colossal chunk of stone like a pompously posed chin. It seems to sit there proudly, like it's not a building at all but a part of the landscape that has every right to be there with its imposingly heavy front door and its many windows that glint in the sun and spread flecks of light across the emerald grass.

Louis' own miserable block of grey flats that he calls home is dismal in comparison. But then again, the slim tower that rests on the other side of town is mostly home to single mothers with crying infants and senior citizens who have to stop every few seconds on the stairs in case they keel over with respiratory troubles, and who could forget the swarm of stray cats that litter the back steps every time Louis saunters down for a smoke? So he's certain his flat block would look dismal compared to anything really - even to a cardboard box caught in the rain. 

But it's general hideousness is especially unpleasant compared to this place that almost looks like some pretentious manor from a period drama, but it's split into various flats on the inside and Niall and Harry share one on the second floor, and as Louis walks up the front steps of the veranda, hauling his suitcase behind him, he tries to spy some movement in any of the second floor windows, but there's no sign of life. What had he been expecting? Harry to be awaiting his arrival at the window?

He pushes open the heavy door and is greeted with an ambience of pure and utter stillness - the front hall is glinting within an inch of its life, dark polished wood laying on the floors like smooth chocolate and a curved staircase of gilded gold with Persian carpeted steps rises with grandiose finesse against the wall. The only sign of life is the white and pink Oriental lilies that sit encased in a glass bowl atop a black marble table in the middle of the hall, and is that... _Vivaldi_ playing from a speaker near the front desk? Well, it appears to be an empty front desk and Louis is sure a resident adviser of some kind is supposed to be there to let him in. So that just leaves Louis all alone, in this massive bloody entrance hall with speckled flowers and the sounds of _La Stravaganza_ hurrying towards his ears. Louis has to hold back a scoff at the pretentiousness of it all, but he almost becomes slightly irritated when he doesn't spot a lift, but fuck it, he's used to hauling himself up flights of stairs - the lift back home never works. 

He doesn't wait any longer then for an appearance of the undutiful RA, and begins to lug his case up the stairs, gritting his teeth a little when it bangs him in the ankles, and all the while as he clumsily meanders his way up the carpeted steps, he tries to ignore the very unsteady thump of his heart. Truthfully, he's been trying hard to ignore the fact that his heart has been behaving nonsensically in his chest ever since he had stepped foot outside his apartment. There's a rather large part of him that is aching to just bolt now, to dash like a newly released convict who has just seen civilisation for the first time after a lengthy prison sentence. He wants to _run_. To high tail it all the way back to his apartment and bury himself beneath his covers where it's warm and safe and _familiar_. 

He feels uneasy as he finally steps onto the second floor landing, his case coming to ungracefully thump against the wooden floor, and his heart stutters when his eyes land on Harry's door. He's completely and utterly unsettled with the notion that he's now about to head towards the door of a boy who he may or may not be terrified of - only because of how he can rouse within Louis a flustering myriad of taut, knotted emotions. Louis feels like he has a tightly wound ball of yarn in his stomach that keeps tangling itself tighter whenever he so much as thinks about Harry, and the more he does the more the bundled mess becomes a disastrous jumble that he'll never be able to unravel. 

"Fuck" he groans under his breath, still tethering on the top of the polished landing and eyeing the door that is not two metres away from him. He can hear the soft lull of music or maybe it's television (he can't really make it out since his heart is crashing loudly in his chest and drowning out all decipherable sounds) coming from behind the door. He looks back over his shoulder then, to the bottom of the stairs, and contemplates hurrying out of this building and leaving it all behind him. 

He could text Harry an apology, or make some excuse up like he had a family emergency or something. _What family_ , his mind scoffs. But the last text Harry had sent him had been a very chirpy one along with his address. 

**_Wessex Hall, near the back of the uni. Flat's number 5, on the second floor. See you very soon, Louis :) H x_**

Louis' heart had not skipped a beat when he had seen the little kiss mark tagged at the end of Harry's message. _Nope_. _It had not._ Harry is extremely friendly and certainly affectionate with his close friends - Louis has seen first hand how he is with Niall and Ed for example - so he probably sends those little marks of utter soft-heartedness in his text messages all the time. And Louis knows he doesn't have it in him to crush Harry's hopes like a block of ice being smashed with a hammer by fleeing now when they're so close to actually carrying this through, and he also knows that he can't run away like the fucking coward he is, no matter how much he might want to. He's gone too far now - he's already embracing the very real situation he's now in and he can't just sprint all the way home and bury it. He needs to face it. He needs to be momentarily brave. 

He then decides he needs to stop loitering in the landing and move before he turns to stone or withers away into ash that will blow away down the stairs to dust the petals of the lilies and imbed into the air that still faintly sounds like Vivaldi's violins. The rumbling sound of his suitcase wheels seem deafening in the quiet hallway as he stiffly walks across the shiny floors, somehow reminiscing how his heart is crashing like a tumbling chunk of rock that's come loose from a mountainside, and before he even has time to second guess himself, he's knocking on the ivory painted wood of Harry's door. It's opened by a blond, rather ebullient Irishman - and Louis can't help but feel slightly sick at the relieved yet disappointed concoction that now begins swirling in his stomach.

"Hey, uh, there was nobody at the desk so I just let myself up" Louis attempts a smile, his small movements threatening to crack his very taut face into millions of lines. But Niall doesn't notice any such anxiety radiating from Louis' every pore - he just lights up like an Irish little sun. 

"Louis Tomlinson, as I live and breathe!" Niall smirks rather teasingly as he ushers Louis into the spacious apartment with a hooked arm around his waist. Louis drops his clenched hand from the suitcase and abandons it by the coat rack at the door "How are you, mate? I thought I saw the last of you the other day. Don't know how any of us survived Ed's party" 

"Tell me about it. I felt like the undead all weekend" Louis grimaces down the memories of copious alcohol and the sour tang of cannabis on his tongue with a harsh swallow and a shudder of his shoulders. He scans his surroundings then as Niall ushers him further into the flat, and he notices with his timidly studious eyes that Harry is nowhere to be seen - he can hear the distant thrum of an electric shower somewhere though so he guesses that he's not too far away. _Shite, is he early? Fuck, he's too early and he shouldn't have come here before texting but they had agreed to meet at twelve, right? It's only a quarter to now so he's not exceptionally early but -_

"You want a cuppa? Just about to make one meself" Niall suggests while turning down the stereo that is playing a Kings of Leon record and flicking his blond head towards the already boiling kettle. Louis nods with a grateful smile and Niall stalks off towards the open planned kitchen, opening up cupboards and retrieving mugs with a warm efficiency one can only gain from being homely. 

Louis turns around then, still stood rather terrified between the large grey couch and the kitchen counter tops, and he lets his eyes take in the very well decorated apartment with a slight envious pang that blooms in his chest. His own flat is boxy and could probably fit in its entirety inside this spacious living-dining area - and yes, the stuffy little box feels like home with his potted gardenias, fairy lights and Doncaster Rovers banners on the back of his bedroom door - but it's nothing compared to _this_. This contemporary monstrosity that seems like it has been put together by some pompous interior designer. 

It's vulgarly modern, and seems to offend the very Victorian exterior of the residence hall, but this space is very appealing to the eye, Louis must admit - even though the very bones of him are etched with Victorian prose and encased in a love for all things that include the wonderful romanticism of its era.

But it is nice, a far cry from Louis' space with its drooping couch with the mismatched cushions and dark beige walls that he's hung random candid's on in an attempt to hide the peeling plaster. Everything in here is grey and black, and the surfaces of the kitchen and the large dining table are both marble effect, and there's a large bookcase in the corner that hosts a plethora of tomes that Louis can almost guess have never been read. The sun glints through the north facing wall that is just one big window outlined by floor length curtains of crushed grey velvet, and he counts about ten plants scattered upon different surfaces. Potted in spherically shaped lumps of clay, and he's sure they're all fake. Not like his gardenias that he waters religiously. The shiny black Petite Grand that rests before the leather bound volumes on the shelf is what gets Louis' attention though. 

He feels his feet move towards the instrument before his brain even has time to make its mind up. He stands staring at it for a minute, watching how the sun that is extending its kiss inside is now glinting off the smooth cover and how his stretched out reflection greets him upon the onyx fallboard. A trembling hand reaches out to pull it up, the surface is cool to the touch and when he lifts it all the way up he brings a shaking hand out to ghost above the ivory keys. He can feel some impatient surge rise up inside of him like the engulfing swarm of waves, and it's like those waves are battering against his defences and causing a demanding tingle to rush through him - almost as if his own body is begging him to play. He never touches the keys.

He feels his throat tighten then like phantom hands have come to wrap around his neck, and his eyes start to prickle with the weight of unshed emotions. 

"You play?" Niall calls from the kitchen, and Louis whips around to face him. The blond now extends a hand that is clutched around a mug with a smiley face on it, and Louis hurries over to the counter with a gracious skip - well away from the magnetic presence of the piano - and takes the mug from Niall's grasp with a grateful smile. 

"Used to" Louis mumbles in answer around the lip of the mug - a delightful shiver rolling through his body as his hands clasp the heat of it "haven't in a while" 

_Not since Mum died._

"Harry never stops. I'd almost hate it if he wasn't so talented, the git. He can play anything" Niall nods appreciatively, and then adds after a contemplative pause "He's really glad you're doing this, you know. He appreciates it" 

"Yeah, well glad I could help" Louis shrugs, his eyes flickering to the door that he's sure Harry rests behind. He can't hear the shower anymore so he's pretty confident in thinking that Harry will walk out any minute, gracing the room with his endearing presence and polluting Louis' semblance of sense with his ridiculous face and his farcical fairy tale hair and his sinfully coloured lips. He feels slightly sick at the thought and takes a gulp of scalding, bland tea. He feels too nervous right now to even ask Niall for sugar, since the boy clearly hadn't put any in. 

"I didn't really know if it was a good idea at first. I was the one who suggested it, but I just didn't think you'd actually agree to go" Niall says with blue eyes that are carefully steady, and Louis can't help but hover from one foot to the other when he suddenly grows uncomfortable "but I'm glad you did, of course. I'm just sorry I won't be there to see the look on that bastards face when he gets a load of you!" 

"So you know this ex boyfriend, huh?" Louis questions curiously, his eyes once again flickering to Harry's door, but still it doesn't open. 

" _Boyfriend_ " Niall scoffs with an eye roll "kind word to describe a proper piece of shite, and someone who didn't even deserve the title in the first place. If you ask me he's a right prick, and to answer your question I don't know him exactly. I know _of_ him. My father knows his father, you know the usual. His dad is the owner of De Luca Distillery" 

"Wait, like the crowd that make De Luca wine and all those fancy spirits?" Louis almost spits out his tea in surprise, and Niall nods stiffly, a grimace lying within the storm of his eyes "Fuck, we sell that brand at the restaurant and the sauvignon is like a grand a fucking bottle! Only the rich shits order it. No offense" 

"None taken, mate, and yeah that's them. Theo's an only child and is going to be a very wealthy man someday when his father finally clicks his clogs. The family founded the distillery back in the eighteen hundreds or something like that so they're all sitting on a pretty fortune" Niall bitterly scoffs "Look I don't ignore where I come from. I come from money too, alright? My father's famous in the sporting world, my Mam's an heiress, you get the picture. But I like to get on with people, no matter who they are and I've always been raised to be humble, and kind. But Theo, from what I've heard of him he goes around acting like he's better than everyone else, only hangs out with other rich people and then throws them away when he gets tired of them. Like he did with Harry" 

The scalding hot tea scorches Louis' throat as he takes another sip, but the bitter thought of Harry being mistreated and discarded is a far more fiery thing to swallow. Harry had only been thirteen when he'd first met this Theo lad, Louis only knows this because of what Harry has told Louis himself - and Louis now imagines a younger, more timid Harry with curly hair and wild green eyes who beheld the world in all its tremendous beauty, falling in love with the sheer simplicity of life and with a boy who would eventually break his heart. 

It's hard to think of alright - impossible to think of lovely and gentle Harry being victim to heartbreak and pain, and it creates a stony lump in Louis' throat, but he doesn't get to ponder on the thought too much because the soft creak of a door sounds throughout the flat, and both Niall and Louis snap their eyes in its direction. Louis' heart must have been coddled to sleep beneath the tight embrace of his ribcage because up until a minute ago it had been quite content in Niall's presence. But now it stirs awake with a sickening jolt and batters itself against his sternum when his eyes fall on Harry. 

Damp hair hangs over a bright face and a short curl that Harry pushes back with a ringed hand tickles over a green eye that glints like the midday sun outside. His tall and well made body is clothed in a purple polka dot shirt and black jeans - three buttons are undone and two friendly swallows sit perched under his collarbones as if his bones are tree branches, and their inked eyes stare at each other like soulmates who were meant to partner on Harry's chest. 

Louis' choice of a baggy grey sweater and light jeans seems drab in comparison. But he reminds himself that the way Harry looks is not important at all, and he wills his heart to calm itself and tries to coax the monster in his brain to behave. 

"Louis" Harry greets rather breathlessly, a big smile on his plump lips. Louis' tongue suddenly feels dry in his mouth so he takes another sip of the rather badly made cup of tea and hopes his irritating nervousness washes down with it. 

"Hey, Harry" he tries to sound overly friendly to hide the wavering nerves that clog his throat, but his voice ends up coming out like a wistful sigh that has the power to recite sonnets. He's very aware of an Irish pair of eyes studying him. 

"I didn't even know you were here yet" he walks languidly over to the counter and stands beside Louis who sits perched on the stool, leaning his hip against the edge and folding his arms over his chest. He smells like vanilla body wash and some sort of flowery cologne that oddly reminds Louis of languid summer evenings spent lying amongst tall grass, tinkling piano notes and the sweet taste of strawberries. 

"Oh I just thought I'd swing by and see Nialler before we left" 

It's a complete lie - Louis had been restless in his flat and had needed to just get out, and he'd honestly thought it would take him longer to walk here - but the Irish boy gives him a warm smile that seems to sell the fib nicely. 

"We can go now, if you want? We have a bit of a drive to go" Harry suggests, his lovely eyes scanning Louis' face with a softness that seems to radiate from deep inside him, and all Louis can do is nod dumbly like a mute.

Harry beams that infectious smile then - the one that has the ability to turn earth into an endless spin of boundless summers - and says rather enthusiastically "I'll go get my things!" and then he turns back around to rush into his room. 

"So Niall, you heading back to the land of rainbows and leprechauns for midterm?" Louis teases his friend once his mind clears from being subjected to Harry's intoxicating scent and beguiling eyes. 

"Fuck off, you British wanker!" Niall laughs heartily with a shake of his head "and yes, heading home tomorrow morning. Can't wait, haven't been home in ages, but I'll be back in the UK for dad's golf tournament next week" 

The sound of Harry's footsteps returns both lads attention once again to the doorway of his bedroom, and he emerges carrying a smaller bag than what Louis has decided to bring. But of course, Harry probably has an entire closet full of fashionable clothes at his house. Louis just hopes that what he's decided to bring with him will be acceptable, because he's sure he even looks meagre in comparison to Harry right now. 

"I'll miss you, Niall" Harry frowns as he holds his bag in one hand and hugs the boy with the other "we should meet up with you during your dad's tournament. He's playing near Berkshire, right? That alright with you, Louis?" 

"Oh yeah, definitely" Louis nods with a smile - one does not miss out on an opportunity to hang with Niall Horan when given the chance. The boy's a wonder to be acquainted with, truly he is. 

"Alright, we'll see you then" Harry begins to walk towards the door and plucks a black coat from its place on the rack. Louis follows him then and makes to grab his case but Harry slaps his hand away ever so gently and smiles that dimpled grin. 

"I'll get it" he tells Louis as he opens the door and saunters towards it with his own bag in one hand and Louis' case in the other. 

"Love you, Niall!" Harry calls over his shoulder as he strolls out into the wide landing of the second floor. 

"Love you, lads!" Niall's infectious accent carries towards Louis who is still stood dumbly in the doorway - his stomach feeling funny and his heart erratically beating. Niall just stares at him with the most confusing looking smile on his face - Louis can't tell if it's a perceptive smirk or a genuine grin. It makes Louis feel even more uneasy when he suddenly winks. 

"Have fun, Louis" Niall says slowly, and Louis just weakly smiles back before whirling around on the spot and closing the door behind him. Harry is there waiting for him, one foot on the top step of the stairs and still clutching both sets of luggage like a proper gentleman, and his face brightens like the sun when he eyes Louis walking towards him. 

"Ready?" Harry asks him, and Louis feels the yarn of knotted emotions pull even tighter where it rests in his stomach. But he smiles back anyway and nods. 

"Ready" he answers - and he feels like he is (Almost. Kind of) as he follows Harry down the steps. He can do this. He _is_ doing this. He's really doing this and there is no backing out now, no matter how much the oppressive demon inside of him is begging for him to turn around.

 _I can do this_ , he repeats inside his head - yet he can't help but think the very frightening thought that from today until he returns to reality next week, he, Louis Tomlinson, is Harry Styles' _boyfriend_.   
  



	9. Chapter 9

**_And in the end, it's you against you;_ **

**_fighting for yourself_ **

**_\- Anjali Chaturvedi_ **

Harry's car is nice, black and sleek and comfortable on the inside with creamy leather seats that Louis' jeans stick to after a while of being subjected to sitting on them in the deadening heat. It's not entirely as ostentatious as Louis had perceived it would be when picturing the vehicle Harry would drive (he'd imagined some highly expensive vintage sports car or something). It's a simple yet elegant Volvo S60 (yes Louis had been proud of himself for figuring out the make and model from one glance) and the inside smells like vanilla and freshly cut flowers, and now Louis' wafting wave of cigarette cloud is filling the car up with its ashy scent. He's smoked about five already, Harry had said he didn't mind at all that Louis smokes in the car as long as he shares. 

Five cigarettes - one for every existential crisis he's had since they pulled away from the campus.

He's had maddening urges to unhook his seatbelt and haul himself from the moving car, hoping his legs would be stable enough to stand on and run a fucking hundred miles away. But alas, he has not given in to that small fantasy that is tethering slightly on mild insanity. Nevertheless, the anxious bubble inside of him has not popped into a watery emulation of confetti - _oh no sir_ \- it has stayed rooted deep inside of him and has turned into a plaything for his inner demon to entertain itself with. 

Admittedly, Louis' been a nervous wreck ever since the horizon of home had gotten further away in the rear view mirror, and he's found that even the silence that lies between himself and Harry is the comfortable kind, and the _easiness_ of it all is what's greatly unsettling. 

There's none of that awkward trepidation hanging in the small distance between them - none of that anxiety that would cause one to stutter out nonsense ramblings to fill up the wordless space.

It's been utterly pleasant, and Louis finds that fact all the more displeasing since he has never been this secure with silence. Louis has always been rather loud and demanding in his attentions, and he thinks he displays this rambunctious behaviour to fill up the worrying void inside of himself that is filled up with the question of who he is. But here now alongside Harry he feels like he can just exist peacefully and do nothing else. 

Harry has been listening to the radio, long fingers fidgeting with the touch screen console and green eyes flickering between that and the road every few seconds as he changes stations, and every now and then he'll hum along to a song or tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel. They've chatted here and there about the weather and other such trivial things, and now Louis has a cigarette in one hand and his classical poetry textbook in the other. Professor Anderson had assigned them midterm reading, and although it had gotten exasperated groans from everyone else, Louis had not minded at all. 

He loves poetry - especially John Donne. His amorous writing is resonating and riveting, and Louis' eyes scan appreciatively over his highlighted and dog eared pages while he props the book on his knee. He's reading poetry in quiet contemplation, the window down letting in the warm heat and allowing the smoke to escape, Harry is singing along to Queens _Somebody To Love_ and it's all so very _domestic_ and comfortable.

Louis reads a line in his book then that has him suspending the cigarette before his lips, hand stalled in the air comically, and he's pretty sure he's dropping ash onto his thighs but his heart is twisting too violently in his chest for him to care.

 _If_ _ever any beauty I did see;_

 _Which I desired, and got, twas but a dream of thee._

He's all too reminded then of the recurring dream he's been having of Harry, the haunting vision blooming within his mind, and he shuts the book rather quickly with a resounding snap of page fifty two against page fifty three. _Thank you, The Good Morrow, but that's enough from you._ The sigh he also lets out after his vexatious action gets Harry's attention, and those green eyes tear from the road and over to where Louis now shifts up straighter in the passenger seat. 

"Giving up your midterm reading, already? It hasn't even been fifteen minutes" he chuckles with a dimpled grin, one large hand leaving the steering wheel to run through his long hair that is still slightly damp at the ends "that boring, huh?" 

"John Donne could never be boring, Harold. I'm quite insulted you'd even think that" Louis cheekily smirks back in an attempt to alleviate the budding tension in his body "but I think the reading can wait awhile" 

"I do agree with you there. Donne is one of the greats" Harry nods while changing the channel yet again as Freddie Mercury's voice wavers away to be replaced by a chirpy radio presenter. 

He's clearly obsessed with music and likes to channel surf as soon as a song ends or if he hears one he doesn't like - the disliked songs wavering between scratchy static as Harry tunes the radio. Louis is sure this action has annoyed him in the past when he's been in cars with other people and they constantly switch between stations - but here right now he can't seem to recall how it feels being irritated by it. Odd, that. 

"So tell me about this family of yours I'll be meeting" Louis decides to ask then as he swirls a pattern on the creased front of _The Anthology of British Literature_ with a fingertip "is it true your mother is related to the Queen or something?" 

"You're joking, right? Oh, you _are_ joking" Harry laughs as he quickly gazes at Louis' smirking expression "No relative of the Queen, but her father was an Earl" 

"Ah, that's totally _not_ random and fascinating" Louis quips sarcastically as he sharply inhales a cloud of smoke into his lungs. Harry reaches out a hand, eyes still intent on the road and Louis passes him the rest of his cigarette with a half smile. They're _sharing_ a cigarette, _one single_ cigarette (well Louis had said he would give Harry the last few drags) yet the small act of domesticity is managing to warm the acidic pools in his stomach. He knows Harry isn't a habitual smoker yet he wonders if he ever smokes with anyone else? Or if he just does it with Louis since he's a terrible influence. 

"Not that fascinating. My grandfather didn't do much other than manage landholdings and walk around with a cane, and spend more money on whiskey than anything sensible. He was a member of the House of Lords too, you know like in parliament, so he thought himself very important" Harry says with a bitter grimace, flicking the butt of the smoke out his open window. 

"Sounds like a charming man" Louis remarks dryly and Harry laughs under his breath- the sound scratchy and deep.

"I'd always been slightly afraid of him as a kid, he had a very loud voice and was very tall. I don't think he really understood why I was the way I was. Or _who_ I was. He wanted me to like hunting and fishing, not sitting inside with my Nana playing the piano and listening to old records" Harry recalls wistfully, an indubitable bitterness in his voice "I'm just grateful he died before I came out. God knows that would have killed him before the cancer took him. But everything is passed to my mothers brother now, and he's a much kinder man"

The image that is created in Louis' head then at those words is one that greatly disturbs whatever semblance of peace he had previously been cocooned in. He imagines a younger Harry, with deep dimples in a cherub face and eyes that behold the magnificent world, but being slightly afraid of what people would think of him. He guesses that period of Harry's life hadn't lasted long, because now he seems so comfortable with who he is that it's almost inconceivable to comprehend a past where he was ever ashamed. 

He's so eccentric in personality and dresses like someone tethering between the image of a fashion model and an effeminate rock star. He crosses his legs when he sits down and has long hair, and wears too many rings and has poetic tattoos and he's just so unique and positively... _himself_. Incomprehensible, Louis thinks. But the thought of Harry having a disagreeable relative is something that is all too familiar. Louis' own father comes to mind then. 

"So that's your mothers side, right? Tell me about the Styles?" Louis decides to ask then, shaking fingers coming to brush the short and feathery hair from his eyes. He really did comb it this morning, but with the breeze flittering in the window it has decided to become an unruly mess yet again. 

"Well, what do you want to know?" Harry cocks his head to the side, peering at Louis from the corner of his eye as he stops behind a silver jeep at a small junction. 

"Your dad's Edward Styles, right? Is it true he's running for Prime Minister?" Louis questions with a fascinated lilt in his voice - he thinks he sounds like a news reporter with all of his inquisitiveness, but he can't help but find it surreal that these powerful parliamentary candidates, business heirs and affluent socialites are the parents of his classmates. But it seems that Harry doesn't find the knowledge as interesting as Louis does since he rolls his bright green eyes once the car starts to move again. 

"Yeah, that's him. You'll meet him at the wedding by the way, so be prepared. He never stops talking once he starts" Harry shakes his head with an almost fond smile on his face. 

"Ah, he's a true politician I see" Louis nods his head with his best serious face, but Harry just chuckles breathily and does that god damn endearing thing where he shakes a large hand through his hair. 

"Oh yes, leader of the conservative party and all that. But he's great, really. I have a stronger relationship with him now than I did when I was younger" Harry waves a hand around as he looks out his window. 

"Did you not get on?" Louis asks as he looks up through his lashes, almost secretly studying Harry's expression. He wonders if their situations with their fathers are any way similar, but he guesses that's not the case when Harry shakes his head. 

"Oh no, I always got on with him, but him and my Mum divorced when I was ten so then he wasn't around as much even though they stayed friends. I only really saw him a couple times each month since he was so busy with his job. But I think now he makes more of an effort with us" Harry explains "he's supportive no matter what. That's what's great about him"

 _So Harry has a supportive father,_ Louis muses to himself, _I wonder what that's like?_ His own father had always been highly pessimistic when it came to discussing his children's aspirations. Once when Louis was six he had declared that he wanted to be an astronaut and his father had scoffed rather nastily. _Be realistic, Louis! You can't go around saying things like that when they'll never come true._ Who tells a six year old something like that? 

Louis knows John had wanted him to become a property developer or a real estate manager like him, and when Louis had finally decided at fifteen years old that what he wanted to do more than anything was to teach about the wondrous world of literature he had taken chunks out of Louis' self esteem. _An English teacher? What a soft job for a soft boy!_

"That's nice" Louis says while trying not to grind his teeth at the memory of his smug faced father. 

He grips the book in his lap tighter and stares out the window in hopes that the buildings that zip by can somehow erase all the negative thoughts that threaten to cloud his head. It seems to work for a while and the scenery outside seems to do wonders to dissipate the memories of his stupendously fucked up father. Memories of his sharp blue eyes and tilted chin are then stored away in his mind to collect dust like some forgotten box on the top tier of a shelf nobody can reach. 

A voice like the rumbling destruction of some ancient monument breaks through the momentary silence then, and resurrects Louis' conscious thinking. "I'm pretty famished to be honest, do you want to stop for something to eat?" 

"Yeah, sure" Louis smiles genuinely then at the thought that he can get out of this sticky car and stretch his legs. They haven't been driving too long - perhaps a little over an hour - but in this warm weather, and in this small proximity to a boy that is altogether enamouring, one must really be allowed to roam widely every once in a while to avoid the very probable conclusion of insanity. 

The place that Harry suggests is situated in a small retail park that still hangs onto the cusps of town - the next location the tireless motorway - and Louis almost hops out of the Volvo as soon as it comes to a stop. The air outside is fresh and brisk, with just the right amount of gusto, yet there is still a heady dense heat that whispers its way through the pockets of oxygen. It's only _April_ , in _Britain_....why is it so hot out? Louis runs both hands down the length of his jean clad thighs when he stands up straight in the empty parking spot beside Harry's car, and has to supress a grateful groan when he feels his limbs settle the tight knots out of themselves as he stretches like a coddled kitten. 

Obviously, very obviously, it seems that the _bitch_ some refer to as _the universe_ does not want Louis Tomlinson to have any gathering of peace within himself - because looming down at them like an inherent pair of eyes that belong to an ever watchful entity, is a massive billboard. It is housed at the entrance to a construction site that rests beside the retail park, the demolished hunk of stone and gritty sand just like a contrasting eyesore, and Louis feels himself gawping at it with an open mouth. 

He's surprised for some reason, even though he has no need to be, and then a quietly vicious anger rolls through his body like the beginning of a thunder storm. 

_Tomlinson Property Solutions_ is etched onto the sign in gold brash lettering, and above the words is an outline of a house. How very original.

He grinds his teeth together harshly and his hands are now itching to reach yet again for his cigarette pack and lighter. Perhaps he could use the lighter to set the massive green sign on fire?

"You alright?" he whips around then when he hears Harry's voice - the deep timbre of it seems to slice Louis' pondering in half with a gentle tug, and he catches the concerned gaze of Harry's eyes as he walks in front of the car to stand beside Louis. All he can do is wave a hand in the direction of the sign, and Harry scrunches up his face in puzzlement. 

"My dad's company" Louis mumbles as he drops his eyes from the demolished building site and the very promising looking sign that seems to silently scream _This pile of rubble and dust will probably be turned into an array of buildings that no one can afford to live in._ Well, not people like Louis anyway. 

"You don't like him" it's not a question at all and nothing in Harry's tone suggests that it had been offered as one. When Louis looks at him now, tilting his head just slightly to look into those pools of swamp moss, he can see that his structured face is wearing an expression of lovely understanding. Like he can see how Louis feels about his father just from one glaring look at a god damn billboard. 

"That obvious, huh?" Louis snorts unkindly, peering one last time at the sign and turning away. Louis may be a couple inches shorter than Harry, but his legs can sure as hell gain ground on him and Harry now has to sprint in his Chelsea boots to keep up as Louis makes his way to the chirpy looking café that sits beside a hair salon. It's shop front is tucked under a tarp canopy of sky blue and the gleaming windows are decorated with matte stickers that advertise an array of beverages. 

"You need to talk about it?" Harry questions Louis kindly as he steps around him to open the door but Louis shakes his head rather aggressively. 

"No thanks, mate. But let's just say my dad and your grandfather would have gotten on nicely" and that's all he has to say on the matter, strolling past Harry and into the way too bright interior of the coffee shop. 

It's garishly decorated with block print wallpaper and portraits of random bits of scenery - and _God_ , the floor is altogether like something one would see dotted behind their eyes after stepping off a helter-skelter. Its blue and fucking yellow, _vulgarly yellow_ and the pattern of it is spread out in wide triangles that all point the same way. There are chalkboards on the wall behind a lurid counter the shade of butter, and the unintelligible scrawl boasts a mirage of weirdly flavoured beverages. _Of_ _fucking_ _course_ Harry Styles would get his coffee in a place like this. 

"Wow, I think I've suddenly lost my eyesight" Louis blinks rather dramatically as he stares at the gaudy patterned floor. 

Harry chuckles from beside him and grins that time stopping smile of his that makes a nestled crater appear near the corner of a well rounded mouth. Louis looks quickly away, and gulps solidly. He focuses on the aroma coming from the espresso machines and the wavering chatter of the other patrons instead of the handsome presence of Harry. 

No, _not_ handsome. Not at _all_. Just pleasant to look at - like how Liam is attractive to the obvious gaze or how one would appreciate the simple loveliness of a flower. Harry is most definitely, _certainly not_ the most handsome person one could possibly behold. _Nope_. 

"This place honestly has the best coffee" Harry says as he and Louis join the line behind a pregnant woman and a man who rubs her back soothingly "they were out last time though, machine was broken or something" 

"Oh well that's fine by me. I'm more of a tea guy anyway" Louis smiles wistfully as he thinks of the promise of a nice Yorkshire brew with just enough milk and sugar "Let me guess, you're the kind of lad who drinks pumpkin spice or chai tea?" 

"Wow, there you are again with the very wrong opinion of me. I'm wounded, Louis. Truly" Harry mocks with a smirk, and there's something warm that blooms in Louis' chest at the effortless banter that they can share "I'm just a regular coffee guy" 

"Well, Regular Coffee Guy is that all you want or are you getting something to eat? Because I'm starving" Louis rubs his stomach and steps up to the counter when the heavily pregnant lady waddles away with a large cup clasped between her hands. Her rather diligent shadow now follows her with a tray of delicious looking pastries. 

"Oh no, I'm getting this" Harry argues with an extended arm in front of Louis, making to stand before the counter. Louis rolls his eyes then very exasperatedly and pushes Harry's arm away with a knock of his hand. 

"Shut up, I'm getting it" Louis fumbles for his wallet in his pocket while Harry tries to do the same, but Louis pulls his rather battered leather one out first and gives Harry a triumphant smirk. 

"No, I've asked you to accompany me so I think it's fair I get it" 

"Harold" Louis grits out rather annoyed, blue eyes flashing towards green. 

"Lewis" Harry bites back with a twinkle in his eyes and the ghost of a smirk dancing on the stout plains of his pink lips. 

"Ah, a little lovers quarrel?" a voice cuts through the bouncing tension between the two boys and both now rip their eyes from each others faces and to the rather plump and pleasant looking woman who stands before them. She has her grey hair scraped up in a bun, and her wrinkled eyes now look between the two of them with a fond glimmer in the warm brown. 

Lovers quarrel. _Lovers_. Louis feels the nefarious grip of his inner demon clutch his ribs and twist ever so brutally. 

He consciously takes a step away from Harry and just offers the lady a tight smile as he rattles off his order - completely ignoring her comment in the hopes that not paying any mind to it will make the tension less stiff - and Harry adds his with a careful tone and a blush that is creeping all the way to his chestnut hair. The lady bumbles around happily while making Louis' tea and expertly steaming the milk for Harry's coffee and both stand by the counter with a thick barrier of growing awkwardness between them. Well, Louis has begun to feel certainly awkward ever since the barista's comment. She's old though and probably thinks every twosome she encounters is a couple, because Louis and Harry certainly do _not_ look like a couple. 

"To think I was actually considering becoming your friend" Louis tries to alleviate the trepidation by inflicting humour into the situation as he hands the lady a twenty pound note - much to Harry's distress of course "and you go and order something like _that_ " 

Harry quirks an eyebrow as he takes their tray, holding it up with a pair of strong arms and nodding his head towards an empty booth. 

"What is wrong with avocado on toast?" Harry fluidly slides onto the horrid blue leather seat and sets the tray on the table. Louis snorts with an eye roll that is bordering on theatrical behaviour. 

"Everything" Louis waves a hand towards the pile of green mush that lies atop a rather bland looking piece of dry toast - his ham and oozing cheese toasty looks marvellously superior "it's just one of those trendy foods I can't stand. People are always taking fucking pictures of it and putting it on Instagram. _Oh look at me, I'm so healthy!_ Give me a break"

"Were you traumatised by an avocado in your youth, is that it? Please share your story, Louis" Harry is gazing at him with a jocular glint in the green of his eyes and Louis snorts while pouring milk into the dark red of his brewed tea. 

"Oh shut it you, and eat your mush" Louis huffs out around a mouthful of delicious toasty and Harry just smiles in return while shrugging off his jacket. 

"You take sugar?" he asks Louis then as he fishes through a small bowl on the table with cylindrical packets in it. He takes out one and lays it beside his coffee. 

"Two please" Louis gratefully accepts them as Harry hands them across the table and he tears the little white strips open at once and begins to stir the contents into his tea. There's about five minutes of more suspiciously comfortable silence that follows, consisting of them both flicking through their phones (Louis already has six messages from Liam and a selfie of him with a big pout on his face. What a petulant man child!) but then Louis' curiosity gets the better of him and his voice cuts through the amiable quietness. 

"So, I was thinking on the way here" Louis begins, getting Harry's attention and making him rip his eyes from his phone "why is it that your ex is invited to your cousins wedding? Isn't that like on the list of things that should never happen? You know most family members kind of help you avoid your ex, not invite them to something you'll be attending" 

"Well you see, my Uncle Richard and Theo's father are friends and have been for years, they're both business owners. The De Luca's and the Styles have kind of always known each other, even before Theo and I met at school. So basically their whole family is invited" Harry puts his phone down on the table, Louis after getting his full attention now " but these weddings are always huge with too many people. It's all about who knows who and not about who my cousin and her fiancé really want there, you know? It's all a bit ridiculous" 

"So it's gonna be like one of those weddings full of stuffy politicians and millionaires who your cousin probably doesn't even know?" Louis ponders the thought while stirring his tea with a spoon. 

"Yeah, guess it will be" Harry sighs a little and those plump lips of his pout ever so endearingly as his green eyes drop to the table "and nobody knows about Theo and I, so there's that too. I know for a fact if Poppy knew anything she'd probably chuck him off the guest list. She's always been like another sister to me" 

There's a hurt on his face that is undeniably evident and Louis can only guess that Harry is thinking about how the hidden element of his relationship was what had broken his heart. He had been tucked away in beautiful Italy with the sun as a witness to a passionate love that had been budding inside of him since he'd been thirteen, yet it had never left the confines of sweet Verona. It had died there like a plucked flower and had wilted away to bitterness and a painful longing. 

Louis can see how millions of collected moments are swimming around in the green of Harry's eyes, and he can't imagine how much hurt he feels inside for not being able to tell the truth. But perhaps Louis really can understand, and that just makes it all the more unsettling. 

"You didn't tell _anyone_?" Louis sits across the table then with his white porcelain mug between both hands. 

"Just my Mum and my sister. Niall too, because I know he'll never tell anyone else. But other than that no. I never trusted anyone else" Harry says as he fiddles with the polka dot sleeve of his purple shirt. Louis smiles though and feels a trickle of warmth rush through him - he can't be sure if it's from the heat of his mug or Harry's words. Suddenly he's reminded then of the night they had sat in front of the stone fountain in the hotel and traded truths. 

"You trusted me" Louis' voice is even, gentle with just a hint of wistfulness in it and he coughs when Harry's eyes lock with his for a moment. They're a forest trail of green firs and Louis does not want to stumble and become lost in the vastness of their wilderness so he looks down to the cheap linoleum of the table. 

"You're easy to trust. You're just that kind of person, Louis" 

Jesus, he was not expecting him to say _that_. He was expecting him to say something like _Oh, I was drunk that night. That's why I told you all those things._ But he's just so strikingly honest that it causes Louis' heart to cease it's beating.

Traitorous damn thing, his heart. It has the audacity to be convincingly neutral at times, and then Harry Styles just comes along with his stupid, pretty smile and his softly spoken words that are like a can of gasoline intent on setting alight the muscle inside Louis' chest - and what a damn flammable heart he has. 

"Enough about my relationship problems. What about yours? How's things with the girlfriend?" Harry asks, and just like that Louis' heart is smothered with a cold wet rag and all memory of fieriness is snuffed out. 

"We're on a break, so I don't have a girlfriend so to speak. We're gonna take some time apart, she thinks it's for the best" Louis sighs out, a hand coming to cup his smooth face. He dares to look back up at Harry and he's leaning across the table in a pose similar to Louis. His large hands are cupped around his face and those evergreen eyes are gazing at him. Actually _gazing_ like he's solely intent on listening to what Louis has to say and nothing else. It's quite unsettling - a little charming - but definitely unnerving. 

"Do _you_ think it's for the best?" Harry's head tilts to the side then, a long tendril of hair sweeping over the expanse of a porcelain throat. Louis gulps. 

"Uhh...yeah? Yeah, I guess" Louis nods his head as if he's trying desperately to knock it from his shoulders "we've just been bickering a lot lately so not being in a relationship with one another is for the best, yeah. I've been a shitty boyfriend so far, to be fair" 

"Oh I think you've treated me really well so far, you bought me mushy avocado and all" Harry says with a smile, and Louis' heart bangs against his chest like a window shutter in a hurricane, but when he looks at Harry and sees the dopey grin on his face and the twinkle in his eyes he can't help but smile. 

He fucking _smiles_ , and that god awful presence inside of him allows it, and it doesn't stop him from blushing either. He even chuckles a bit at the joke, because it's a little funny right?

They natter on then about anything and everything, from topics that range from horrid professors to Jim Morrison to their favourite football team and Louis lets himself enjoy it and tries to ignore the sharp pain in his chest whenever Harry smiles at him or laughs too loudly at a joke.

When they finally leave, bumping arms off one another as they childishly race to the car, Louis decides then and there, that the eccentric coffee shop with the gaudy yellow and blue floor is one of his favourite places.   
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

_**How shall I hold back my soul,** _

_**from touching yours?** _

_**\- Rainer Maria Rilke** _

Hundreds of delicate sunbeams are now glinting fiercely off the double paned windows that rest on the face of the Georgian house that comes into view as Harry's car turns a corner - their wide, white painted frames sitting there like rows of polished teeth in a too wide smile. The door is painted a dark woodsy green, the same colour as the ivy that tangles itself to the front of the crème bricked structure and weaves its way wildly off to the side. It sits against the backdrop of a perfectly manicured garden, complete with stone fountains that trickle with clear water and a small pond that sparkles as crystal as a looking glass. The whole house looks like a lump of polished granite, sitting there proudly beneath the azure sky. 

Louis almost wants to scoff at the absurd pretentiousness of it all. Almost. 

He really doesn't have time to as Harry's car drives past a pair of open steel gates that are vaulted with intricate designs of spears at the top and emblazoned with a family crest in the middle, because he's just too busy looking at it all to display his disbelief with a mere sound.

The golden gravel rounds out as they get closer, engulfing the house and curving at the front, and in the centre is a patch of well trimmed grass that a large bush of dotted flowers sits on. The air that flits in through the open window of the car then as they drive by smells florally and clean, and oddly welcoming despite the sheer imposing lavishness of the house before them. 

They pull up in front of an outbuilding that looks like it could be a garage, and beside them rests a very shiny red sports car, the top down and a million or so shopping bags in the back that are stuffed with colourful tissue paper. Harry chuckles a little under his breath, and when Louis looks at him while taking off his seat belt he can see that he's shaking his head fondly with an eye roll. 

"That would mean Gemma is already here" Harry explains with a smile " a great person but a terrible spender" 

"Ah, I guess Lottie and her would get on then" Louis remarks with a reciprocated smile - although he's certain Charlotte wouldn't be able to afford half the brands that are now stuffed in the back of the Porsche - but his sister certainly does love to splurge out every now and again with her money. She does work hard for it though - helping women birth children is obviously no easy career path - but sometimes Louis would warn her to not spend her life savings in Primark or River Island. 

The impeccable gravel crunches pleasantly under Louis' feet as he opens the car door and steps out, and he feels like a knotted string that's just been untied as he stretches out his limbs. He'd enjoyed Harry's company the rest of the drive here (they'd laughed the whole time while trading stories about Niall and Liam. Their ears are probably burning right now, but oh well) but he had really hated sitting in the one place for so long, and the hot car made no exception. 

"Well, this is home" Harry has the audacity to actually blush as he walks around to the back of the car - a crimson shade of delicate embarrassment colouring his lovely face as he throws a hand towards the Georgian chunk of smooth brick. 

" _Home_? Wow, this looks like a place I'd send my sister to get a spa treatment for Christmas or something" Louis observes as he lets his eyes take in the spectacular house. It's not entirely _massive_ per se, not like one of those mansion's you'd see in some period film or other, but it is quite large and makes the red stoned council house Louis had grown up in seem rather dismal in comparison. 

His childhood home back on Harris Avenue had been the kind of place that was always packed with neighbours and the almost permanent, never wavering cloud of tobacco smoke that had caused the gaudy wallpaper to stain. That place had been carved from laughter and the foundations were built from pure love and the entire structure of it was as comforting as a tight hug. The kitchen table had been the epicentre of all activity - his mother and Gran had always been leant over warm cups of tea while trading gossip and his sister had always sat around with friends, painting their nails and making the whole house smell of lacquer while they'd giggle over a magazine. The fish and chip shop down the road had always welcomed Louis in with a warm smile on a Friday evening after school, and the corner shop that sold newspapers and sugary sweets from old mason jars had been where he'd had his first job. 

That place had been a collection of joined houses with much too loud neighbours that shouted pieces of news across the street from their front steps, and a large communal greenery where the lads had played football. It had been noisy and a little rough, nothing like this grand statement of wealth, but it had been _home to him_ and suddenly Louis' throat gets a little tight as he thinks of it. 

"Let's head in" he hears Harry's voice then and he tears his eyes away from the house and to where Harry is now hauling their luggage from the boot of his car. Louis immediately fumbles in an attempt to peel his suitcase from Harry's hand. He can drag his own case, thank you very much. But the boy fluidly pulls both from the boot with those strong, tattooed arms and looks at Louis a little challengingly. 

"You're the guest, Louis. I'll get the bags" he says with a twinkle in his green eyes, and an oddly warm feeling like the one you get in your belly after the first sip of hot tea seems to scatter itself through Louis' veins. He smiles widely with loads of teeth (he's sure those ocean eyes of his are crinkling embarrassingly at the sides) as he almost skips after Harry's tall form. 

_A gentleman,_ Louis thinks to himself. Of course a gentleman would live in a house like this. 

He becomes nervous then and a halting sort of anxiety takes over his body as they come to the green door - the glossy wood with its brass knocker in the shape of a lions head seems to glare at him coldly, and he swallows down a rather hard lump of utter desperation as he eyes it. The oceanic wave of pure frigidness doesn't even have time to drown Louis fully because almost as soon as Harry comes to a stop before the door the heavy chunk of polished wood swings open. Louis can feel his legs start to shake at the knees and his mouth dry up, and he wrings his hands nervously in front of him because suddenly this is all very real, and he's actually here with Harry at his home and he's about to meet his family and -

"Harry, welcome home!" a woman with blonde hair and a very jolly face greets as soon as she comes into view around the door. She is dressed in simple black trousers and a white blouse, some sort of floral patterned half apron tied around her waist, and she has one of those old lady faces that is painted with strawberry flecks over plump cheeks and deep wrinkles over thin lips. She's small though, smaller than Louis, and Harry steps over the threshold of the door with those long legs and engulfs the rather petite woman in his arms in an effortless swarm of limbs. Louis rather awkwardly steps into the house, his curiosity seeming to momentarily snuff out his panic as he looks around. 

Louis ogles the hallway (if one could even call this a hallway since it's as wide as his bedroom back in his flat) with eyes that flit from one thing to the next. The floor is shined impeccably, the black and white squares glinting with the sun that seems to shine in from every spotless window, and the walls that are the same shade as warm milk are adorned with portraits in gilded gold frames. There's a grand staircase that is tucked against a wall where no less than ten colossal paintings hang, and its white steps of shined granite soar towards a landing that houses two plush armchairs and a coffee table. Louis and Lottie had once stayed in an expensive hotel in London after a Kings of Leon concert (they'd decided to treat themselves) and it definitely hadn't been as grand as this. 

"Mildred! How've you been?" Harry asks the woman then, a dimpled grin spread wide on his face and eyes sparkling as he looks at her "haven't seen you since the last time I was home!"

"Which was too long ago, Harry! Look how skinny you've gotten, my my, I'll have to fatten you up before you leave you know, put a bit of meat on those bones and oh my who is this handsome fellow?" she giggles giddily, her cheeks lighting up underneath the broken veins as she pinches Harry's trim waist. 

My, Mildred is the exuberant sort isn't she? Louis doesn't even have time to blink before she's turning away from Harry to grab Louis' hands, outstretching them to the sides as she observes him with a very appreciative twinkle in her wrinkled blue eyes. Louis just watches as she smiles up at him with all the loveliness of one so gentle, and he can't help but return her smile wholeheartedly even though his heart is still rattling inside its cage. She sighs then rather whimsically, and looks between him and Harry with a cocked head and a fond shine in her eye. 

"This is Louis Tomlinson" Harry says rather brightly, but he doesn't add anything more than that which Louis is slightly grateful for. He doesn't know if he's ready to hear himself be introduced to people as Harry's _boyfriend_ just yet. Even the mere thought of it has him breaking into a nervous sweat "and Louis, this is Mildred. She's been working for my family for years" 

It seems that Mildred is some sort of a maid then or a housekeeper? Because that's normal, Louis scoffs inwardly. 

"Nice to meet you, Mildred" Louis gives a friendly nod and smiles at her again with the most dazzling smile he can muster up through his haze of cloudy anxiety - his cheeks rather hurt after it and so do his hands since she's squeezing them so tightly.

"Lovely to meet you too, Louis, and don't you two make the prettiest pair? All grown up so you are, Harry" she coos as she drops Louis' hands to pinch Harry's now blushing cheeks "bringing someone home to meet us! I never thought I'd see the day! And such a handsome boy too!" 

Thankfully the budding awkwardness that is now permeating the air like the stifling choke of gas is completely waved away when the presence of a tall, rather gentile sort of man appears from the doorway of what looks to be a library - his clicking footsteps resounding off of the tiled floors. Louis can spy shelves upon shelves of books when he tilts his head to the side to peer into the room - his literature stuffed heart swelling at such a sight. He's clothed in an ensemble that would not look out of place on the grounds of a posh golf course or a country club; linen trousers the colour of gone off mustard and a white polo shirt with a cardigan thrown around his shoulders. His hair is grey and flicks just below his ears, and a narrow face now turns to look at them as he gazes up from the newspaper he holds, a thin finger pushing the horn rimmed spectacles up his nose. 

He looks like the sort of professors that teach in their university, stone faced and dour with that exuding personality of born into superiority, and Louis is almost ready to feel nervous of him, but then the man smiles - widely and genuinely, and the slither of anxiety that had been waiting to bloom in Louis' chest is snuffed out. He drops the newspaper he'd been reading onto a wooden table that is sat beneath a rather ostentatious baroque style mirror, and makes his way towards them with all the litheness of one so very affluent. 

"My boys! How are you?" He greets with a wide grin - his voice has that smoky sort of tone in it that is oddly comforting and it carries towards them like a crisp breeze in autumn. He extends a large and age spotted hand towards Louis then, and somehow he feels as if he's greeting an old friend as he takes it in his own. _My boys_ , he had said, like Louis is somehow a part of the family already. But then again, this man is obviously under the illusion that Louis actually is Harry's boyfriend. Louis swallows down something that taste's awful on his tongue, but he tries to smile through it. 

"Louis, this is my stepdad Charles" Harry throws a hand in the mans direction, a genuine fond grin on his face as he introduces him. It's obvious Harry loves him by the way his eyes are boyishly shimmering. 

"Louis Tomlinson, sir. Nice to meet you" Louis stammers out as he shakes his hand, but when he lets Louis' hand go he uses it to swat the air dismissively. 

"My name's Charles. No need for that kind of formality here, son" he smiles then, and when he does Louis can see the tight puckering of wrinkles pull at his mouth and around his brow. He's oddly old looking for someone who holds such youth in the pale cinnamon colour of his eyes, but Louis remembers how Harry had said his stepdad had not been well. He certainly has that sort of grey washy pallor to his face, and underneath the pristine ivory of his polo shirt Louis can see that he's incredibly thin. His appearance causes Louis to feel an odd sense of familiarity wash over him like the smoky cloud of a distant memory, and he feels a lump rise in his throat at the thought. He imagines his mother then, thin and decrepit and barely able to lift her head off her pillow towards the end. 

"Your mother and I weren't expecting you for at least another hour or two, you made good time getting here" Charles says as he wraps a thin arm around Harry's shoulders, a grin on his face that causes his youthful eyes to sparkle. It's clear Harry adores him as he looks at the older man with that very impassioned smile of his. 

"Well, we left earlier this morning. Wanted to avoid the traffic" Harry says as Charles begins to steer him towards an arched entryway that rests down the end of the hallway. The older man motions for Louis to join them and he scurries after them, leaving a smiling Mildred in the hallway with the bags. 

"We've all been most excited to meet you, Louis" Charles tells him with the most polite tone of voice ever (he certainly could give Liam a run for his money) and a blossoming warmth like the slow inflation of a balloon swarms Louis' chest then at the sheer sincerity in it.

"I was looking forward to it too, sir. _Charles_ " he adds with a bashful smile when Harry's step father throws him a gentle look over his shoulder as they enter into a rather large and modern kitchen "Harry's told me all about you. All good things, I promise you" 

"That's good to hear, son. I hope over the next few days we can all get to know you better, Louis. Harry rather neglected to mention too much about you on the phone" Charles teases with a raise of his thick brow, but Harry turns a rather incriminating shade of red and shuffles bashfully on his feet.

"I wanted you too see for yourself how wonderful Louis is" Harry mumbles while scratching the back of his neck, and while Charles chuckles deeply over his stepson's blatant bashfulness, Louis can't help but stutter where he stands. Harry's words pick holes in his heart and he can't seem to breathe for a few seconds. Louis knows this is all pretend, but something in the sincerity of Harry's tone has him feeling that perhaps Harry really does think he's wonderful. 

"I think I've made you blush, Harry" Charles grins while poking the taller boy in the sides with a finger - it only causes Harry's blush to deepen "but I'll stop with my teasing before I embarrass you too much. Now would you boys like something to drink while we wait? We're going to have dinner in a short while" Charles asks then as he lets Harry go to saunter towards a white cabinet that nearly takes over a whole wall. Both boys shake their heads politely while Charles pulls a china cup from a shelf and rifles around looking for a tea bag. 

"Where's Mum?" Harry asks, his long fingers pulling grapes off their stems from where they sit in bunches inside a large bowl atop the marble counter, and all the while Louis inspects his surroundings with curious eyes.

The kitchen they're gathered in is large and airy, and looks too pristine to even be considered lived in - the surfaces polished and shiny and housing glass bowls of well grown spirit roses, their pink and orange tinged petals open and their thorny stems submerged in crystal clear water. There's a large oak table resting before a pair of French doors, and three more vases of flowers are placed with careful measure upon its surface, and the sturdy wooden beams that crisscross through the white ceiling are the same shade as the table. The whole room looks like something one would see on the cover of _House & Garden_ magazine. A large island of black marble stands proudly in the middle of the floor, and Harry now props himself against it with a familiarity and a comfortableness that Louis has yet to contract - right now he's just standing idly and a little nervously beside Harry, unsure of what to say or how to act. He's not been this nervous in a very long time.

"She was doing a spot of gardening last time I saw her" Charles answers as he fills a kettle over a copper sink. And as if on queue, the French doors that rest before them now open, the billowing ivory curtains that frame them blowing timidly in the warm breeze, and from behind their delicate dance a woman now appears, bringing the heat of outside with her. Harry immediately stands up straighter then as he sees her, and when her eyes land on him she immediately smiles an eye crinkling smile. 

She's tall like Harry and has the same shade of hair that tumbles past her shoulders in soft curls, and her eyes hold the same lovely wildness in them. This has to be Harry's mother - she's too like him to not be - but she's not at all what Louis was expecting. He had been imagining a rather affluent woman who wore pearls and held her chin in the air when she talked, and who would be decked out in some linen atrocity from Chanel or one of those costly designer labels. But this woman before him has a pretty face, one that is oddly endearing to look at and her red cheeks that are risen into a warm grin are smudged with thick dirt - the same dirt that clings to the pair of pink gardening gloves she wears and on the soles of the boots that her thickly socked feet are stuffed into. She's wearing jeans and a simple blue t-shirt that is caked with mud and flurries of grass stains and crushed in petals, and she has leaves wrapped around the loose tendrils of her chestnut hair. 

"Louis!" she beams widely as she pulls off her dirty gloves and throws them atop the counter. She comes towards him then with open arms and twinkling eyes, and Louis doesn't even have time to breathe another breath before he's being crushed into her with all the force of a motherly embrace. 

"Mum, don't kill him! You'll suffocate him!" Harry chuckles from beside them, and with that his mother lets Louis go with an almost bashful smile on her face, but the fond look in her eyes remains. They're almost the same shade as Harry's, but where her sons eyes are electric with a poetic bewitchment hers are like the expanse of a tranquil forest. She seems to be one of those rare people that can set you at ease with one look - and something in the round plains of her beauty reminds Louis of his own sweet mother.

"I'm so sorry, Louis! I've just been so excited to meet you ever since Harry told us about you" she smiles while putting a pair of delicate hands over Louis' face, squeezing his cheeks like he's a five year old "Which I'm still miffed over by the way, my dear son. Hiding something like this from your mother for so long. You should have told me you had a boyfriend. Oh, I'm Anne by the way" 

"It's lovely to meet you, Anne, and uh...I guess we didn't want to say anything too soon, right Harry? Not before we made it official" Louis says then with an unsure look on his face because he really doesn't know what he should be saying. He's never been in this situation before, and it's odd and a little terrifying. 

"Yeah yeah, that's right" Harry nods almost frantically, and a little comically as he catches on to the lie. 

Anne drops her hands from Louis then and pulls Harry into a warm hug, her plump mouth kissing all over his face which causes him to blush like a timid school boy. He catches Louis' eyes then over his mothers shoulder and in them is a sort of shy apology that Louis just smiles over because he's suddenly feeling mushy on the inside - like a heated up marshmallow - and it's weird and wonderful all at once. Harry's mum had hugged _Louis_ first, greeted _him_ before her own son in an attempt to make him feel welcome and the simple gesture of it all is causing him to feel nostalgic while in the presence of such a warm family dynamic. Suddenly any sort of trepidation or anxiety he had been feeling is slowly swept away under the carpet of his mind. 

He is however, still slightly uneasy with the whole _boyfriend_ act, but he knows he must get over it. A week is all he'll be keeping it up for so he won't have to worry about it for too long. 

"Harry dear, why don't you and Louis get settled before dinner? You can show him your room" Anne suggests when she eventually lets her blushing son go, and with all the sudden force of a hammer hitting ones head Louis begins to silently balk. He had not, _not once_ , thought about where he was going to sleep during this whole wedding fiasco and now the very evident reality of it is causing his heart to lurch. _Fuck_ , his mind hisses, and suddenly his limbs start to tremble with a sickening nervousness that threatens to make his knees weaken from under him. So much for his momentary peace he had grasped a moment ago. 

Harry eyes him curiously with a sheepish expression, and Louis does his best to plaster on a smile that is dripping with easiness. He's sure he succeeds because no one looks perturbed at all (he's always been a good actor) and Harry just extends a hand towards the entrance in a timid attempt to direct Louis. 

"See you at dinner boys!" Anne calls after them with a chirpy voice and a wave that Louis returns. 

"They're really nice" Louis comments once he and Harry are alone in the large entrance that they'd first come through. A huge portrait of a very regal looking brunette woman casts a shadow on them from where she hangs proudly against the ivory backdrop of the wall. Louis would find it imposing and a little garish if it was night time - he would not fancy those painted eyes watching him. 

"Sorry if anything made you uncomfortable...." Harry trails off, that lovely pink blush colouring his smooth face, but Louis just waves a hand nonchalantly. He doesn't want Harry to know how much he's fretting on the inside and how a horrid wave of dysphoria is suddenly overtaking every sense in his body. 

"Don't be worrying, Harry. Honestly I'm not uncomfortable at all" Louis tells him kindly, hating how those big green eyes flicker like lightbulbs behind a frame of dark lashes. The utter untamed electricity of them is damn heavy to be subjected to, and Louis looks quickly away before they can even begin to ensnare him. 

He probably is a little uncomfortable - a little unnerved at the fact of how much he actually wants to make a steady impression on these people with polite smiles and good manners. Not because he wants to set a pretence for this whole part he's playing, but because the deviant side of him really wants Harry's parents to like him. It's almost easy to believe that Louis really is the boyfriend Harry has brought home. 

It's utterly unsettling to say the least. 

"Let's head upstairs" Harry suggests as he throws a hand in the direction of the landing, and they both begin to head up the large staircase with careful steps. Louis stops him halfway though, a finger prodding the hard bicep of Harry's arm. 

"Who are all these lot then?" Louis asks as he points a finger towards the various portraits that litter the walls above the staircase, and Harry turns around with a crooked smile on his face as he follows Louis' eye line. 

"Ancestors and all that" Harry waves a hand towards a painting of a moustached man atop a horse, the lines of the painting delicate and bright and the horses eyes of dark green almost seem aflame on the canvas "this is one of my mothers family homes. We moved here when her and my dad split up. It was used for the hunting season before we did though. My grandfather and my uncle used to come here to shoot and such" 

"Very regal indeed, I must say. A house just for hunting season? You really are the little posh boy, aren't you?" Louis teases with a quirked mouth and a head that tilts sideways as he surveys Harry amusedly. The boy just rolls his eyes, but that rosy flush deepens to a pale scarlet over his face. 

"Oh shut up, I never went hunting!" Harry scoffs, folding his arms over his chest as he leans against the gold banister of the stairs. For a moment Louis wonders whether it's real gold - he really wouldn't be surprised at this stage "I actually thought it was cruel to be honest which didn't go down too well with my grandfather" 

He points across the way then, where a massive portrait of a very majestic man sits on the wall facing them. It sits alone, no other cluster of paintings surrounding it, and Louis takes in the very severe looking man with a squint of his eyes. He's sitting down in a velvet backed chair, a pin striped suit on with a purple handkerchief in his pocket and a matching cravat wrapped around his throat. His hair is grey but his thick, curled moustache is prominently black against a wrinkled face. 

"I can see why you were afraid of him" Louis mumbles without looking away from the austere face of Anne's father. The painted eyes are done in the impasto style, thick blobs of blended cerulean poke out of the canvas like glinting diamonds and Louis bristles on the staircase as he gazes at him. He can almost _feel_ the spirit of Harry's grandfather judging him through those awfully realistic eyes. 

Harry gazes at the artistic emulation of his grandfather for a moment more, green eyes studious and plump lips pursed, and then he turns and stalks away from Louis to ascend the stairs. Louis follows him with one last look over his shoulder at the painting that has oddly unsettled something inside of him, and he finds that the image of his own father rests in the tucked away corners of his mind - leering and ready to pounce whenever Louis' defences begin to slip. 

"Is that my little brother, I hear?" Suddenly the sound of a woman's very smooth voice carries from a room to the left of the landing, and both boys halt their footsteps when they hear it. From beside him, Harry sighs ever so quietly with squinted eyes, but after a second his momentary exasperation is washed away.

"Yeah, it's me, Gems. And Louis" Harry calls back as he rather hesitantly casts his eyes to Louis' face. He looks suddenly nervous for some reason. 

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Harold? Or has university turned you into an impolite barbarian?" she calls back, and Louis can almost hear the smirk that lies between the tone of her words. 

Harry just sighs yet again and extends a hand towards the door the voice has come from, and Louis walks towards it then with rather trepid footsteps. He enters through the open doorway then and into a room that looks more like a hotel suite than a bedroom. It's a flurry of pink and gold wallpaper, and there's a massive fuchsia rug on the ground that Louis almost feels like he shouldn't step on in fears of mucking it up with his Vans. There's double doors on the east wall and beyond them Louis can spy a large bed with plush velvet covers thrown over it and an almost ridiculous amount of satin cushions. There's a large white couch that sits atop the rug and it faces a set of open French doors that extend out to a balcony - a pair of pink lace curtains fluttering like moth wings against the frames.

It smells of sugar and sweetness, and the floral scent that clings to the summer air in the dead of July. It's fashionable and girlish, and it entirely suits the elegant woman that is sprawled upon a chaise lounge on the balcony, her affluently sprawled frame coming into view as they step closer. Louis timidly follows Harry as he makes his way towards her, and as she hears their approaching footsteps she lifts up a pair of warm brown eyes to peer out from the wide brim of the black hat on her head. Her hands are manicured to perfection with red polish glinting wickedly on the tips of her fingers, and in them she elegantly grips a cigarette in one of those long black holders that Louis has only ever seen the likes of Audrey Hepburn use in movies. She unfurls her legs from under her, the long black skirt she wears flowing over a pair of milk white feet, and then she's standing gracefully while never taking her eyes off of Louis. 

"So how much is he paying you?" she asks in a voice that is pleasantly eloquent, bringing the long cigarette holder to her lips and taking a drag. She looks like something out of a fucking vintage film reel, and it's oddly intimidating. Louis splutters helplessly, eyes casting to Harry's face, but somehow he doesn't look disturbed at all. His face is set into stony indifference, his arms folded across his chest and his head cocked to one side rather incredulously. 

"Don't listen to her, Louis. Gemma likes to think she's funny" Harry bites at her, but his eyes are suspiciously fond and the smile that begins to break through his irritated countenance is wide. 

"There's no way you're actually dating my brother. You're too pretty. So what's your price?" she plays, a coy smile tugging her plump glossy lips and Louis bristles where he stands, collecting the lost confidence that has somehow diminished within him. He can play too. He's good at it. 

"You wouldn't be able to afford me" he smirks lightly at her, then adds in a more hushed tone "I'm way too expensive" 

She studies him steadily then with eyes the same colour as an espresso shot and twirls a strand of dark hair around a finger as she muses to herself. "Oh I like you! You've got character" Gemma eventually thrills as she extends a hand "Gemma Styles, and don't believe a word this pest tells you about me. They're all definitely lies" 

"Louis Tomlinson" Louis shakes her hand "and Harry has actually told me all good things about you. I was looking forward to meeting you" 

"Good things, huh? Well, I must say I'm pleasantly surprised, little brother" Gemma cocks her head, brown hair tumbling past her shoulders from under the wide expanse of her hat. She shouldn't be standing here on a balcony in Berkshire, Louis muses, but rather on one in Paris that overlooks the Eiffel tower and where the air smells like coffee and wealth. She should be graced on the front cover of Vogue or some other well known fashion editorial. 

"Well I didn't want to tarnish your image beforehand, you know? I thought Louis should see for himself what a brat you are" Harry laughs as he dodges Gemma's swatting hand, but there's no ill content on her face at all - rather a very fond countenance that has her lips upturned once again. 

" _Don't_ listen to him, Louis" Gemma warns again as she looks at Louis, a flicker of amusement lighting up her eyes as she gives his wrist a friendly squeeze "Now I must hear absolutely _everything_ about how you two got together, because Harry somehow neglected to mention it to me. I've heard him talk about you before on the phone though. Oh Louis this and Louis that! Louis is so handsome and -"

"Alright!" Harry interrupts his sister with an awkward clap of his hands, and when Louis jumps his eyes to Harry's face he can tell that he's trying to hide his clear embarrassment by feigning a smile "Gemma, it was lovely seeing you as always, but we best be off! I need to show Louis his room"

" _His_ room? Surely you weren't going to sleep in separate beds?" Gemma eyes the space between them then with a creased brow and a pondering pout "Come off it, Harry! You know Mum and Charles aren't that old fashioned! They're not going to care if you and your boyfriend share a bed. Besides, Mum turned the guest rooms into a study and a yoga space last month" 

"Wait, really?" Harry squeaks timidly, and any sort of slowly growing hope that Louis was feeling over not having to sleep in the same bed as Harry now vanishes into thin air with Gemma's words. At least Harry had been thoughtful enough not to put Louis in the awkward situation of sleeping beside him. 

"Yes, you would have known that if you came home more. So, I guess there's nowhere else to go besides _your_ room. But Louis obviously won't mind that" Gemma winks a brown eye slyly and Louis feels the pit of his stomach drop "Unless you two haven't done it yet? Oh my my, you haven't have you? Oh brother, I feel so bad for you, I truly do" 

"I can totally see the pain in your eyes" Harry quips bluntly as a trembling hand runs through his hair, and as Louis watches the timid movement he can't help but notice how Harry tugs the brown tresses at the roots in quiet frustration. Perhaps he doesn't want to share a bed with Louis either. 

"Well you'll be sharing a bed all week, so you had better get used to it" Gemma whispers to Harry as she saunters past them, her long satin skirt sashaying around her bare feet, and as she steps into her room she carelessly tosses the black sunhat onto the couch. 

"Right. We're going" Harry storms past her, now completely embarrassed with his sisters blasé antics but Louis actually finds their relationship a little comical and a little familiar. He and Lottie were forever bantering nonsensically and once or twice Louis might have disturbed some of her dates just for the fun of it. He guesses what Gemma's doing is no different. 

"I'm going to have tea here on my balcony tonight. You're very welcome to join me, Louis. You on the other hand, can serve us, or stay outside the door. Whichever you'd prefer, dearest brother" Gemma winks at Louis as she sways towards the open double doors that lead to her master bedroom. 

"Oh, I'd love to!" Louis nods with a smile, deciding already that he quite likes Gemma. She's just a little bit cheeky and sassy, her personality an almost direct disparity to her perfectly proper appearance. She'd fit in well back in Doncaster with her fieriness, Louis muses, if she was wearing something other than haute couture perhaps. 

"Brilliant! It's sorted" Gemma beams brightly, her pretty face that is not entirely dissimilar to Harry's lighting up the corner of the room she stands in "we'll meet here later. Say around eight?" 

"See you then, Gemma" Louis smiles to her as he feels a bony finger poke his back impatiently, and when he turns to Harry he can see that the boy is standing by the door with a glum pout on his face. 

"Sorry about her" Harry mumbles as they walk back out onto the landing, closing Gemma's door just a little snappily behind him. There's a large window over two lilac armchairs that are nestled against the nook in the landing, and the sun flickers through the glass in broken beams that are now scattering across Harry's face and over the emerald sheen of his eyes "She can be a bit dramatic sometimes, and very forward. But she doesn't really mean to scare you off" 

"Oh no, don't worry! I like her, she actually kind of reminds me a bit of my sister. Fiery spirit and all" Louis chuckles but the soft sound seems to get stuck somewhere in his throat when Harry stops down the long corridor outside another door. His heart starts to beat in his chest then with a vengeance, and it almost feels like he has some sort of wild animal caged within him that is banging against the window of his soul while demanding its freedom. 

He hasn't slept in a boys bed since he was sixteen (he doesn't count crashing on friends beds after late nights out when three or four people pile in together) and the thought swarms him then like a sudden buzz of numbing agent, and it swirls around his veins like narcotics and causes his legs to feel like jelly. He gulps down the memory that lives deep, deep down in his mind and pleads with his psyche not to resurrect it as he steps through the door of Harry's room. 

It's not at all what he had been expecting. Truth be told, Louis hadn't really known _what_ to expect exactly but it wasn't this....this _darkness_. 

The entire room is black. The walls. The bed. The canopy hanging over it. Even the large closet that stands solitarily against the furthest wall is like the inky expanse of a black hole. The only colour is the gold flitted floral print against the black wallpaper (it kind of reminds Louis of one of those flowery Gucci suits some lads wore) and the gold curtains that rest beside the arched windows. Their cases are now neatly stood against the four poster bed. Bless you, Mildred. 

Somehow it doesn't seem to fit with the eccentric and almost constantly bright boy beside him. It's like a rather ceremonious cave that one could escape within to ponder things endlessly without the disturbing presence of colour or material things. There is however a tall corner shelf beside a large oak desk and it's full of books, and Louis now finds himself drifting towards it almost magnetically. 

Louis hears Harry heave out a great big sigh as he throws himself down on the ebony bed covers and spreads out like a starfish. He mutters something under his breath about having stiff legs but Louis doesn't really catch on since he's so intent at looking through Harry's collection of literature. He recognises almost all the titles since most are the obvious classics like Bronte and Dickens, and he even has Fitzgerald wedged between Salinger which seems rather fitting if Louis is being honest. Both of those writers seemed to emulate the shattered ideal of the American dream in their words. 

He pulls one out then and the garish cover of grappling and falling angels makes him grimace. _Paradise Lost_. God, he'd hated reading that during the first few weeks of his English Studies. 

"You've read Milton?" he hears Harry ask then, his deep voice close to Louis' ear and he almost jumps at the sheer proximity of it. Louis hadn't even heard Harry come up behind him. 

"I'm an English major, Harold. Of course I have. He only drove me half insane the first few weeks of term" Louis recalls as he runs a finger over the books title on the front page "I love poetry, but Milton was always a little morose for my liking" 

"How so? I think he's a genius" Harry comments then, leaning against the desk and crossing his taut arms. The purple silk of his shirt folds together when he does, and the three buttons he has undone all of a sudden seem completely indecent when the fabric stretches to reveal more smooth, tattooed chest. Louis despises the very weak part of himself because he can't help but look. 

If Harry was a poem he'd surely marvel at the beauty of it. 

"His poetry is just unsettling, you know?" Louis mumbles then, looking away from Harry and towards the book in his quivering hands as he quotes from memory _"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven_. I don't like all that existential shit that makes you think of your mind as something separate to yourself. Like something you've no control over" 

"Isn't all poetry existential though? We're all meant to think of ourselves a little differently after we read something like that" Harry muses then and Louis hums contemplatively as he puts Milton back on the shelf where he can stay tucked beside _The Great Gatsby_. Perhaps Louis wants to feel a little bad about that. He doesn't want the Miltonic verse of _Paradise Lost_ to corrupt the fluidity of Fitzgerald's sophisticated imagery of 1920's America. That had always been one of Louis' favourites. 

"Perhaps. I just found him....disturbing" Louis says as he turns back around to Harry. The sneaking rays of sun are shining through the window behind them and casting it's golden hue on Harry's hair and skin, making him shine like a pretty ornament, and as he stares at Louis he can feel something like a wistful sigh threaten to escape from its confines and be let out into the ether. Louis holds it back however like a child trying to stifle a yawn. 

Perhaps Milton was right in suggesting that the mind could entrap itself in a hellish cloak of deceit and turn the loveliest things into something malevolent. Perhaps one could make their own mind a living, torturous hell that is almost impossible to escape from. Yeah, Milton is definitely right and maybe that's why Louis doesn't like him. 

Harry continues to stare at him with pondering green eyes that seem to pierce the frigid veil of Louis' soul. It's unnerving how he doesn't want to look away or how Harry doesn't seem ready to either. 

"Disturbing?" Harry says slowly as he muses over Louis' previous statement "Yes, I guess you could say that. But the same man also said _Heavenly love shall outdo hellish hate_ , and I'd like to believe him" 

Yes, Louis thinks to himself, but what could Heavenly love do when one hates _themselves_ so devilishly? 

"I have to say, I'm rather impressed with your knowledge of poetry" Louis compliments in an attempt to steer away from the odd tension that's being built under Harry's emerald stare.

"I did nothing but read books and play music as a child" Harry explains with a nonchalant shrug as Louis ponders over the rest of the books while running a fingertip over their spines. Most of them are well loved and wrinkled along the covers like the mottled frescos in Roman runes and Louis smiles to himself as he imagines a younger Harry sprawled out in this hideously dark room while being transported to nineteenth century aristocracy or outer space or wherever he was brought from delving into the wonderful world of novels. 

"You know, Gemma was lying earlier" Harry's voice cuts across the momentary silence like the felling of a tree - sombre and dripping with carefulness. 

"What about?" Louis furrows his brow as he brings his eyes to Harry's face. He has it downturned and his teeth are puncturing his bottom lip like a nail through a tyre. 

"When she said I had talked about you before" his cheeks are blushing as pink as fresh peonies and his fingers are playing with the rings that adorn his left hand "she was just trying to be difficult and embarrass me. But I didn't say all those things" 

"Oh...right" Louis doesn't know why his heart stutters to a standstill in his chest or why it feels like he has an anchor tied to him that's dragging him down towards the floor. He's almost.... _disappointed_. 

"Yeah, just don't listen to her" Harry shakes his head with a chuckle - the sound a little forced - and then he stands up straight and makes his way towards the door on long legs "uh, I'm just going to go down and ask what's for dinner, if you want to stay here and freshen up?" 

"Yeah, will do" Louis nods with a stiff smile but Harry stalls before opening the door, a hesitant stance to his broad shoulders and an almost mortified flicker of utter trepidation on his face. 

"You don't mind sharing a bed, right? To be honest it never even crossed my mind" Harry asks him - and if the floor could suddenly turn into a pile of quick sand that would swallow Louis up to never to be seen again, then that would be really greatly appreciated right now. He stands there like a mute statue of benumbed marble, unable to even speak for a moment because he has too many thoughts in his head that are entirely unwelcome while the very real memories of his youth want to trickle to the surface. He just grits down on his teeth and tries to shove the thoughts away and nods his head slowly. 

"No, don't mind. Of course I don't" Louis says, his voice like a breathless whisper but it seems to make Harry content because he just smiles before leaving the room, the door shutting gently behind him. 

"Fucking _hell_ " Louis grimaces to himself as he walks over to the bed and plonks himself on the edge. 

Louis Tomlinson is going to share a bed with Harry Styles, and there is really nothing else he can do about it. The thought of lying here on this plush mattress under silk covers with Harry is causing all sorts of emotions to stir in his head and make a flurry of unwelcome urges bloom in his stomach. Oh God, he feels sick right to his bones and it aches like the dull twist of a knife. 

He had fucking known this was going to be detrimental, dangerous even, and he'd been right. He should have listened to that skulking demon inside himself when it told him to run away from Harry's intrinsic spirit and never look back. 

Louis groans heavily to himself then and puts his head in his hands, hating his own conflicting mind, and dreading the cover of nightfall.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone is still liking it? There's lots to come and lots of falling in love!


	11. Chapter 11

_**The sky is full of the moon,** _

_**and my head is full of you** _

_**\- Natalie Jensen** _

The sun begins to set in the sky by the time Louis follows a sauntering Gemma up the stairs to her balcony. The rest of the evening had been spent as pleasantly as one could spend time while having mind dissolving thoughts in their head. Louis has still not reconciled with the fact that he'll be sleeping under the same covers as Harry tonight, but for most of the evening he had tried to shove the niggling fears away and cover up his riddled anxiety with polite chatter during dinner and competitive laughter during a game of cards (Charles had turned out to be a master at poker) and so far it's managed to work. 

He's subconsciously decided to try and soothe himself and his inner demons with small acts or normalcy, before he has to delve into black silk sheets with a tattooed siren. 

Harry sits beside him now on the Victorian garden chairs that rest on the stone balcony, an elbow resting on the table in front of him and his hand cupping his face, and every now and then he'll look at Louis as Gemma talks and roll those pretty eyes of his. 

The stone balcony that is held up by chunky granite pillars is ensnared by a tangling weave of ivy and delicate white flowers, and above them the sky is being reduced to fluid brush strokes of watery orange and dark cerulean, and it's all very... _peaceful_. Well, as peaceful as one with a repressed mind can feel.

Louis tries to keep his eyes on Gemma as much as possible as he listens to her talk, his lips puffing through the menthol flavoured cigarette she had given him (he'd thought they didn't sell those anymore) but he's exceptionally weak and can never keep them on her for too long. Instead he watches as Harry laughs loudly, his endearing giggles wafting through the air and settling amongst the sky's canvas of colours above them, and can't keep the smile off of his face whenever he blushes over an embarrassing story Gemma tells. 

Despite the fact the very stubborn part of his soul refuses to budge and let him breathe clean air - there is a part of him however that can't ignore how much this has been easy so far. He's gotten on with Harry's mother and stepdad, and Gemma has not stopped complimenting him or telling him how he's welcome here anytime for tea and cigarettes. 

Somehow he feels like he belongs here, and it frightens him stiff when his mind flashes with the thought of it. He can almost convince himself that somehow he fits here beside Harry before his mind claws itself to shreds and the idea with it. 

"Boys, I don't know about you but I'm exhausted" Gemma says after yawning rather gracefully behind her hand "I think I'm going to turn in"

"Oh Gemma, don't be a bore! It isn't even eleven yet" Harry complains with a pout on his face and Louis smiles as he brings his champagne glass to his lips. The small table had been done up with an ivory lace cloth and plates of small pastries when they'd congregated here, and an ice bucket had been placed in the middle with a bottle of Krug champagne (obviously this woman doesn't do things half heartedly) and now the bottle is empty, but the contents of it are buzzing pleasantly around Louis' veins. 

"Some of us have to sleep for the benefit of our beauty, Harry. Obviously you wouldn't know anything about that" she quips back but her glossy lips twitch at the sides with the smile she tries to repress "besides I'm the maid of honour during this whole wedding atrocity so I must look my best" 

"Fine. We'll get out of your way" Harry grumbles, clearly upset that their rather tipsy laughing fits and delicious titbits of gossip now must come to end, but Louis' heart is beginning to beat deafeningly in his chest at the thought that they now have to leave Gemma's room and go to Harry's. Suddenly the lemon tart he'd eaten earlier and the champagne he's drunk begin to mix sickeningly in his stomach. 

His legs are a little wobbly when he stands and the air around him is thick and stuffy with apprehension, and he feels like he's going to suffocate when Harry turns to him with a smile and that twinkling look in his eyes. His eyes are always alight with some sort of deep emotion, and the moonlight shadows in them now like how it would bounce off the ripples in the sea and the stars dance in them like flickering candle flames.

Louis knows deep down that those damned eyes of his have the power to fuck him over forever. Louis knows if he stares too long he'll be caught up in their net and he'll never be able to disentangle himself. 

But that incessant voice in his head, the one that always screams reason at him, is telling him now that to be tangled up inside the green, shining world of Harry Styles wouldn't be so bad. But the nefarious part of his subconscious that is bitter and unremorseful screeches with a voice like nails on a chalkboard, and that's the voice he listens to. He looks away then and turns his eyes back to Harry's sister. 

Sometimes it's very hard to remember who he really is when his own mind is trying to tell him who he _should_ be. 

"I'll see you boys bright and early at breakfast" Gemma beams when they come to her door, placing a hand on Louis' shoulder and giving it a friendly squeeze "I've really enjoyed today, it was lovely to meet you, Louis" 

"I've enjoyed your company too, Gemma" Louis tells her truthfully, because he really has enjoyed her conversation and the easiness of her laughter. He had been pleasantly surprised when he'd learned that she is in her final year of studying to become a human rights lawyer ( _Well someone has to be the brains in the family,_ she had smirked) because he'd believed she was going to turn out to be some fashion blogger or vapid socialite with no job. But she's friendly and a little eccentric in her playfulness, and reminds him a little of the brother she's so fond of teasing. 

"I must say I approve of your choice this time, brother. Lord knows I despised that horrid little creature, Theodore, who you were fond of before" she grimaces then like she's just sucked on a sour lemon and Louis can't help but let a giggle escape his lips. Perhaps it's the champagne that's making him a little more fluid in his actions. 

"Gemma! That's all in the past, no need to bring it up" Harry blushes a little but a grin tugs at the corner of his shapely lips at his sisters apparent dislike towards his ex. Louis hasn't even met the boy yet but can already tell that he's going to be exactly the type of person who Louis would normally despise. 

"Right, right. Well, what I'm trying to say is that I like you, Louis. I can tell you're good for my brother. I haven't seen him smile this much in a long time" Gemma says fondly as she looks between them and all of a sudden the atmosphere of giggles and light-heartedness turns to one of stifling awkwardness between the two boys who now stand in the doorway. It seems Gemma can't sense it though, because her coffee warm eyes are twinkling with tenderness. 

Louis casts his eyes towards Harry and his heart does a standstill in his chest when he notices that he's blushing pink all the way to his hairline, and his eyes are looking everywhere except Louis' face. Something that feels an awful lot like the slow realisation of perceived emotions rolls around Louis' head like the scattering of spilled marbles from a jar, and he can't take his eyes off of Harry's embarrassed face. 

"Alright, goodnight" Harry mumbles lowly as he regains himself and stands up straighter. 

"Night, boys!" Gemma calls back chirpily as she closes the door after them with a huge smile on her face, and just for good measure she winks at them before she's completely out of sight. It causes the cage of butterflies in Louis' stomach to flutter maddeningly. 

"Are you tired?" Harry asks softly as he stands idly in the middle of the landing, his eyes cast downward and the toe of his boot scuffing against the polished wood floor. 

"Not at all. You?" Louis asks then and Harry shakes his head of dark curls and flicks his eyes towards the large window that juts out in a glittering arch and Louis follows his eye line to peer out into the expanse of navy. The moon is hanging high in the sky like the glowing beacon of a lighthouse bulb, and the celestial flickers of the stars accompany it with their beauty. How could one feel tired when the whole world of stars above them is awake? 

"Do you want to go for a walk? I'll show you my favourite place" Harry offers with the most delicately enticing voice, a smile on his face and some sort of invitation in his green eyes. Maybe it's the Krug he's drunk tonight, or maybe it's the sheer allurement that constantly draws him towards Harry, but whatever it is that makes him nod his head in agreement is of no consequence because he does it anyway without thinking on it. 

"Yeah, I'd love to" Louis finds his voice is rather tight and breathless, and the landing seems to close in around him and the air gets harder to breathe into his lungs, but he follows Harry blindly down the hallway anyway. 

Louis wonders then that if all the stars in the world were to be snuffed out, and if the moon decided to never come up again and the whole world was descended into darkness would he still follow Harry? He knows what he would do, but he doesn't tell his mind the answer in fears it will turn against him and ruin this moment. 

They grab their jackets from the obsidian mass that is Harry's room, fumbling around blindly as they retrieve them from where they'd left them thrown over their luggage earlier, and they both descend into a laughing fit when Louis bangs his foot off the dresser and curses rather crudely. The rest of the house is quiet however, and Louis is aware that Harry's parents are sleeping down the hall so in the end they both have to cover their mouths and try to be as quiet as possible, but the champagne they'd both consumed is causing them both to be as giddy as school children. 

They leave Harry's room then with quiet steps on the landing and they carefully walk down the stairs while both subconsciously try to ignore the leering painted stare of Harry's grandfather. It seems to burn an accusing glare into Louis' back, but he shakes his shoulders in a roll as if to rid himself of the deviance towards his own predilections and walks behind Harry to the door. 

He's well aware that he's stealing into the midnight world of inky blackness and splendid silence, where emotions and truths come more freely- with a _boy_. But he pushes the incessant accusatory thoughts down and just continues to freely follow Harry. They're friends now, and that's all. 

The air outside is pleasantly bitter and it delicately whips against his cheeks and causes the soft brown hair on Louis' head to flutter like a dandelion in the breeze. He can't help but swipe a hand across his forehead to try to tame the wild mess but the action is to no avail- the night time wind keeps whistling and it does not care for Louis' frivolous attempts at keeping his hair in check. Harry walks beside him, bundled up in a black coat and his own hair twists around his face ever so gently, the dark curls kissing his cheekbones and scattering across his eyes, and he looks ever so majestic. 

"So what is this place you're showing me?" Louis asks as they walk around the side of the house and into the gardens. 

The manicured lawn is outlined with small patches of pretty flowers that sit tucked in the soil like ethereal beings made from colourful petals and dainty stems, and they silently sway in the breeze like dancing pixies. It's all very pretty- lit up by the glowing moon and the faint hue of the outdoor lamps that splice across the garden like stage lights- and in the distance Louis can see how the land slopes down and then flattens before it stops at the mouth of a lake. 

"It's where I go when I need to think or just be by myself, you know? Thought I'd show you so you don't think I'm just some shallow rich kid" Harry smirks, the crater of a dimple that looks as if Michelangelo himself carved it with a sculpting tool etching onto his face. 

"I don't think that, you idiot!" Louis laughs, nudging him with an elbow. He tries to ignore how close they're standing but his heart reminds him with every step he takes as it flutters in his chest like the beating of a birds wing. 

"Come on" Harry smiles then, nudging Louis back before taking off down the garden slope in a sprint. The small hill that leads to the flatter ground is steep and Louis throws his arms out as he stumbles down the slope with hurried steps, and he can't help but laugh heartily when Harry trips and rolls onto his side. He huffs as he tumbles to the bottom, and his long limbs splay out around him like a starfish and his hair crowns him in a curly mess. 

He may look like a graceful incarnation of a celestial figure, but my word the boy is clumsy. 

"I don't even need to see this secret place of yours anymore, because _that_....that was the best thing ever!" Louis laughs loudly when he walks over to Harry- who is now looking at the stars very judgementally as if they themselves have caused his clumsiness. He turns his viridescent eyes towards Louis then and rolls them playfully, all the while Louis keeps replaying the very funny moment over and over in his head. 

Let momentary humour replace all dark thoughts in that mind of his, he wishes, and it seems to work because he can't think of anything else for a moment. That is until Harry outstretches his hands with a huff. 

"Alright, very funny. Can you help me up?" he asks and his words make Louis stall for a moment- and there's a split second where he warns himself not to touch Harry- but before the thought can bloom like a poisonous plant he takes his hands in his. They're warm against his own and they cause a prickling sensation like the stabbing of tiny needles erupt in his palms, but the cool metal of his rings sends shivers up his arms. 

Louis helps Harry to his feet, all the while feeling like he himself might topple over from the way his legs are starting to shake unsteadily. He stands then to his full height, and Louis realises how close they have actually become with the small action. The floral and enticing scent that seems to be permanently clung to Harry's skin is filling his senses, and the feel of large hands in his are all he can focus on. 

His eyes are so bright despite the cloak of darkness that surrounds them, and they beam out of a handsomely sculpted face to stare into Louis'. He swallows with a harsh gulp and lets Harry's hands go gently- his fingers sliding against his palm- and then he regains himself with a purposeful cough. 

"Let's see this place then" Louis says with a smile, trying hard not to show any awkwardness on his face and it takes a moment for Harry to regain his composure because he's just standing there staring at his hands like they're going to fall off or something. But he looks at Louis then and nods- turning around and walking towards the glimmering mirror of the lake. 

Louis trails behind him and decides to stuff his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket while wishing he could disembody his own heart and cram it into a secret hiding place just for a little while until it sorts itself out. Right now it is behaving nonsensically and causing a whole mirage of feelings to batter against him like rain against leaves. 

"It's not much, but this is it" Harry waves a hand as they come to the muddy shore that greets a wooden walkway. 

It juts out against the softly lapping waters of the lake like a dark trail that disappears into a blanket of nothingness, and Louis tries to squint his eyes to see what Harry is pointing at. They've gone too far from the house now that the only light around them is the iridescent glow of the moons face, and as lovely as she is her light doesn't lend much power to the murky depths of the surrounding waters. 

"I can't see anything" Louis hisses quietly, although he has no idea why he's almost whispering. 

Not like anyone can hear them, right? 

But as he looks up at the cratered face of the celestial body that hangs proudly in the sky like a Christmas decoration he feels almost that they're being watched. Perhaps the moon knows all of Louis' secrets. Maybe he's okay with that, because who does she have to tell other than the silent stars? 

Harry hesitates for a moment, a quick flicker of apprehension on his face and then some surge of reason or bravery must overtake him because he takes Louis' hand yet again in his own. Louis balks quietly to himself when he does, but he doesn't pull away. 

"Just hold onto me" Harry's voice is soft and as whimsical as a summers breeze and it flits into the ether now to kiss the stars and embrace the moon.

Those four words have the power to paint the sky in colours of incandescent pink and vivid blues and wonderful yellows. Who needs the sun when Harry Styles utters words like that? _Just hold onto me,_ he had said, and Louis grips his hand even tighter because he doesn't want to let go. 

He knows he shouldn't want to hold him tight or touch him but he can reconcile with his thoughts out here in the darkness. There's something about the night that can allow you to become the version of yourself that you hide during the day. The day time is bright and glaring, and people can see you more clearly. But here right now under the canvas of starry skies Louis feels like he can blend in with his shadows and become one with them. 

Harry leads him onto the walkway then with his hand in his- warm and comforting- and Louis follows him blindly since he can't really see anything other than his own feet and the shadowed planks of wood beneath them. The lake water is fluidly lapping against the wooden pillars that hold the dock up, and the reflection of the moon glimmers on top of the dim murkiness below them and when the water moves the moons image gets broken up into slivers of light. 

It looks like a broken mirror, and Louis wonders what his own reflection would look like if he could see it thrown back at him now. He probably wouldn't recognise it. 

Harry walks carefully while holding onto Louis and mutters things like " _Watch your step here_ "or " _Careful now"_ , and all the while Louis wishes that this walk could go on forever because somehow he knows that he doesn't want to drop Harry's hand. He would gladly live in a dark world with no more sunrises if it meant this night could go on and on until the world stops turning. 

But Harry does let him go however when they come to their intended destination that is a gazebo- its elegant structure fitted onto the end of the dock. The moon glints brightly off the ivory pillars and Louis can just about make out a domed rooftop that looks like the top of a cathedral against the backdrop of the night. Harry walks under it now and Louis follows while taking in the sheer simple beauty of such a place. It's far from the house and half suspended in the tranquil peace of a lake- no wonder he came out here to get away. 

"I haven't been home in a while but I think these will still work" Harry mumbles to himself then as he fiddles with a wire underneath the bench that wraps around the entire gazebo "aha! There we go!" 

He delights with a smile as he turns on a string of fairy lights and although they're slightly dim (the batteries must be slowly wasting) they glitter beautifully and give light to the small space. Louis can't help but awe at the stained glass roof that is revealed then- warm oranges and reds swirling through the glass like how the colours of a butterfly's wings catch in the sun. It's all very art deco and grand, and Louis feels a wash of tranquillity drown him as he takes a seat beside Harry. 

"This is really nice" Louis breathes out as he turns to Harry whose face is now reflecting the lights like how the moon is mirroring on the lake's water. He's thought too many things today that are usually always unwelcome, and it's unnerving how he can think something now under the stare of the moon and have it not trouble his mind. 

He thinks Harry is beautiful. 

Louis gazes at him now and the weight of his own realisation hits him like a freight train. He supposes he's always thought Harry to be beautiful (anyone with eyes would) but it's not his obvious outwardly beauty that has Louis floored. 

It's the way his handsome face is smoothed into an easiness that makes light shine from his eyes, and how his full lips are pulled into a half smile as he looks up to the glass roof. He's beautiful here right now, in all his wonderfully peaceful glory. 

"I've written so many songs out here" Harry tells him then with a fond stare "I used to just bring my guitar out here and write for hours about nothing and everything, you know? No one really ever liked coming down here, so it kind of became my place. It was the place I could come to be by myself"

"Now I'm here" Louis smiles widely while knocking his knee against Harry's. He's sitting so close to him and he smells like an intoxicating mixture of vanilla and champagne, and Louis feels like the tiny space between them is hopping with magnetic particles that are begging to pull them closer. 

"I wanted to show you because I....trust you I guess. I feel like you get me somehow, you know?" Harry looks down at his hands that sit idly in his lap and Louis can't help but choke silently on the air in his lungs. 

He's so beautiful and poetic, and he's showing Louis a place that is special to him and has memories attached to it. He's giving Louis small parts of him without even considering hiding away, and suddenly Louis is overwhelmed with the realisation that he's slowly starting to get to know Harry while he doesn't really know anything about Louis. 

"I haven't talked to my dad in years" Louis blurts out then and the lake seems to sigh with him as it softly ripples against the dock. Harry turns his eyes to him then and his brow furrows with an immediate concern that has the stony block in Louis' chest melting. 

"Louis, you don't have to tell me-" 

"I want to. You said you trust me, right? I trust you too, Harry" Louis says his name like a whisper and the moon turns her face to him and gazes deep into his soul. 

_I know who you are Louis Tomlinson,_ she seems to tell him, _do you know who you are?_

"I guess just being around your family today, in your home, just kind of reminded me what I've been missing, you know? Charles is so lovely and I can see that he loves you. I don't have that. I wonder if I ever had that" he whispers, the words heavy with repressed pain. He hasn't talked about this with anyone other than his sister. 

He's told Liam about his familial situation, but only in short and undetailed facts. He knows Louis' dad is a giant prick but Louis has never extended on how he feels about the situation or how it's affected him all this time. He's a man of twenty yet whenever he talks about his father he feels like an abandoned seven year old child again. 

"What did he do?" Harry questions softly, his eyes glimmering kindly under the fairy lights. He's so gentle and understanding, and Louis feels like he might cry. Wow, he is never drinking champagne again if it's going to cause him to turn into an emotional mess every time. 

Louis either said too much or not enough. His mind was always either filled with racing thoughts that bounced around like a feral animal, or a vast emptiness that whistled like night time in a desert. He spoke nonsense falsities to hide overflowing truths, and there was no balance at all. 

He was either a quiet tide that pulled back before it reached dry sand or the rolling rush of incessant waves. A drought or a flood- and he doesn't know if drowning or suffocating is worse.  
But here right now he guesses he's welcoming the threat of water over his head as he sits and rambles on to Harry.

"He was always tough to be around, always on edge and always working. He cheated on my Mum a lot with younger women, and that's why he disappeared when I was seven. Left Mum for another woman, but then he left her too" Louis explains with a bitter laugh, feeling the words rush out of him with a stifling easiness "he tried to get back with my Mum but she was having none of it, packed me and Lottie in the car and we moved back to Doncaster to our grandparents house. We saw him a couple times a month, and to be fair to him he did try to make a bit of an effort with us but it was never good enough, you know? Seeing him for a weekend once a month wasn't _enough_ " 

"He owns that property company, right? John Tomlinson?" Harry asks him and Louis nods while picking the hole in the knee of his jeans. 

"That's him. He kicked up a fuss when I was fifteen and I told him I wanted to be an English teacher, I think he wanted me to do what he does so I could carry on the family business or something stupid like that. Mum told me not to listen to him though and to do what I wanted" 

"I bet she's proud of you for doing what you wanted" Harry gives Louis a smile but he doesn't return it- he can't with the horrid lump that's rising in his throat. 

"My mum passed away when I was sixteen so she never got to see me do what I wanted" Louis says quietly, looking up at the moon that shines through the roof to stop his tears from welling up. 

He misses his Mum fiercely, and being around Harry's family all day has reopened his wounds. Some people think time heals, but Louis is convinced that in reality all that time does is cover your wounds with fleeting moments and unremembered incidents until everything blurs into one big passing whirl that knocks your past back a few years. It just covers fresh pain with the dull ache of a memory but it never _heals_ \- just gets patched over until something comes and tears your insides out like how a knife carves open a fish. 

"Oh Louis, I had no idea. I'm so sorry" Harry tells him, a gentle hand coming to place itself on Louis' arm. 

Normally it annoys Louis whenever people say something empty like _"I'm sorry"_ for something that happens in your life, because why would they apologise for something that's out of their control? 

But as Harry looks at him now he can understand what his " _I'm sorry"_ means. 

He's telling Louis that he's sorry for the pain he's felt- for the loss, for the insufferable sleepless nights spent pondering the concept of death and the afterlife, and he's sorry for all the bitter tears he's shed and how many times he'd screamed into his pillow so Lottie wouldn't hear him from her room next door. He's sorry that Louis has ever felt any of that, and somehow Louis can see something swim in his eyes that says _I'm sorry I can't take your pain away but I wish I could._

"John tried to get closer to us then, think he felt bad or something that he hadn't been around as much, and I thought that maybe we had a shot at being a family, you know? But he was always putting us down and he hated that I was.....he just hated who I was and he made me feel like shit all the time. I was just never good enough, no matter what" Louis stammers, feeling traitorous tears prick his eyes but Harry's grip on his arm gets tighter as he turns him gently to face him. 

"You're brilliant, Louis. I mean that, I really do. You shouldn't even think about him or what he said to you because you are brilliant and clever and funny and _kind_ " Harry looks him in the eyes when he talks to him, and it makes Louis feel like he can see his tarnished soul "and everyone else around you thinks that" 

"Thanks, Harry" Louis whispers with a smile because somehow the way Harry says his words makes them sound so believable "and thanks for listening to me. I've not told many people about that"

He knows he has so much more to say about his dad and how much he really had affected him throughout his teenage years- the years where he was trying to piece together the confusing puzzle of who he was and the years he needed his mum the most- but he can't bring himself to tell _that_ side of the story yet. Even if the moon is not judging him. 

"Well then, thank you for trusting me" Harry smiles brilliantly "now how about we go back inside to make hot chocolate and mess up my Mum's kitchen?" 

"Can't say no to that" Louis nods with a soft giggle and he feels warm all over at the simple thought that Harry is trying to cheer him up a little. 

This time when Harry reaches for his hand to lead him through the darkness, Louis doesn't even hesitate in wrapping his fingers around his. They walk down the dock blindly together, hand in hand, and with every step Louis begins to wonder just how he has allowed Harry Styles to complicate his life.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked the update! Thank you so much for reading!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just feeling so bleh rn. I return to teaching in less than two weeks and I'm so not ready for six year olds after having peace for so long :(

_**All my life, my heart** _

_**has sought a thing I can not name** _

_**\- Hunter S. Thompson** _

The dawn is splitting through the gap in the curtains when Louis wakes up, and his squinting blue eyes are blurry as he gazes sleepily at the wide ray of gold that cuts across the floor and shines over his side of the bed. It’s a deep shade of amber that is slowly swathing the room in its luminous warmth, and the dust motes that gently flitter through the atmosphere are bouncing brilliantly like millions of tiny orbs. The soft ambience of early morning is almost begging for him to jump out of bed and greet the day with a smile, but he seems determined not to be victim to its bright magnetism. He’d love to just sleep all day. 

He throws a hand across his face then as he stirs and he can feel his back and limbs ache which he can only attribute to sleeping in the most uncomfortable position last night. He had laid on his back all night long, body taut with anxiety as he’d stared at the dark canopy over his head, and he hadn’t really slept until the alarm clock on Harry’s bedside table had read that it was four a.m. Now the glaring red numbers tell him that it’s seven a.m, so three hours of sleep is all he has gotten. Perfect. Fucking wonderful. 

Today they have another two hours drive ahead of them to get to Harry’s family estate where the wedding will be held in another couple of days. 

He groans to himself then and sits up slowly, trying to ignore the dull pang at the bottom of his spine, but he can appreciate the fact that the other side of the bed is empty. Spares him any sort of awkwardness. Not that crawling into bed beside Harry had not been mortifying in itself, but waking up together is on a whole other level in the realm of crossing boundaries and Louis doesn’t know if he’s ready for that just yet. 

Last night had been weird to say the least, and now his head is full of confused notions and memories of how Harry’s hand had felt in his own. He had _wanted_ to touch him, to hold him and to give him parts of himself that he has kept hidden and tucked away. 

He had wanted to do nothing but merely exist in Harry’s enigmatic presence for a while and think of nothing else, and he had for a short time, while the moon held witness to his deepest thoughts and shone down at him with her ethereal face. Louis had felt a cold trickle like ice water wash all over him as soon as they had stepped foot off that dock last night, and as soon as Harry had pulled his hand from his. 

But that had been under the cover of nightfall where every flicker of the moon was romanticised and every whisper of the night time breeze sounded like a sonnet read by a classical poet. Under the blanket of darkness one could be persuaded to feel safer. 

Here right now in the glaring dawn everything is awash with golden light and there are no shadows to hide behind. His doubts and fears are brought to the surface and are shining from his every pore, and his soul is singing an aubade of imprisonment to the sun as it sits there all smugly in the sky. In the light people can _see_ him, and he can see _himself_ more clearly. 

Louis sighs yet again, heavily and drawn out as he puts his face in his hands and lets his shoulders droop with the weight of all his vexatious burdens. Louis has always thought himself to be simple and plain. But in reality, he is as intricate and as unruly as a taut ball of knotted yarn. That mind of his, as repressed as it is, is highly confusing and irritating to work out and all he feels right now is tired of trying to make sense of it all. 

He has never understood where the line needs to be drawn between pretending and self destruction. 

Every time that he pushes down his true self and those locked away desires of his, he is killing a small part of himself. He’s slowly chipping away chunks of his soul, and he’s afraid that he’s going to wake up one day on a day like right now with the sun beaming in at him and he’s not going to feel _anything_. Not even doubt, not even fear or frustration. He’s just going to be numb and he won’t know who he is, and he’ll stop trying to figure it out. 

But right now he can feel himself trying to work out his kinks and soothe out his oppressed notions of how he perceives himself and….that’s got to count for something, right? Means he still has a soul to lose if he cares so damn much. 

He hops out of the bed rather quickly then before his mind can delve too deep within itself and he hurriedly grabs clothes from his luggage. He’ll settle for a white tee-shirt and light jeans today because right now he doesn’t feel like sorting through the pile of clothes that are stuffed in the case to find anything remotely fashionable. Tonight though, at this fanciful spectacle of a family dinner with Harry’s extended relatives, Louis will have to try and make an effort. Maybe he’ll sort out the unruly mess of his hair once and for all because right now it’s sticking up on top of his head like a mutinous ball of wool. It’s not long at all, not like Harry’s, but Louis finds it very hard sometimes to manage the soft chaos of it. 

He decides to shower quickly in Harry’s ensuite before dressing though, and hopes that the calming steam of scalding water can ease some of his unbidden pondering and sore muscles. He almost has a seizure though when he pours the shower wash all over him and is immediately hit with Harry’s familiar scent. Great, now he’ll smell like him and probably be reminded of how close he had sat to him in the gazebo last night every time he catches a whiff of himself. Just splendid, that is. 

He’s clean with brushed teeth and combed hair when he emerges from the bathroom and he’s just slipping on his battered looking green Vans when he hears his phone buzz on the nightstand. 

He stops dead, right foot halfway into his shoe, because there’s a part of him that is convinced it might be Tina. 

It has been almost too easy to store her away in the very back of his mind ever since he’s been here (which, alright it has only been one day) but the sheer memory of his university, his tiny flat and his tiresome relationship all seem like a vague vision from another lifetime. It’s like some part of him can not process his reality back home when he’s living in this weird optical fantasy right here. 

To be fair to Tina though, she hasn’t contacted him since their whole “ _breakup_ ” at the campus coffee shop even though Louis had been convinced he would have been bombarded with messages and calls. Tina did usually take the more dramatic route during their time apart. 

The only way Louis knows anything about what she’s doing is through her many updates on her Instagram story. The last one had been a selfie of her and her older sister in the terminal of the airport with the very cliched caption _“New York here we come”_. 

But it’s not her thankfully, and he sighs gratefully as he picks up his phone. 

“Payno! To what do I owe this pleasure?” Louis greets warmly with a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He walks over to the window and pulls open the heavily made curtains to reveal the front lawns of the house, all lit up like a blanket of emerald velvet under the soft kiss of the sun. 

“Just thought I’d check in! I am currently heading up the stairs to your flat. The lift is bloody broken again, Tommo, you really need to find yourself a better building to live in” Liam’s voice puffs out rather breathlessly. Four flights of winding stairs was no easy task- Louis had been subjected to that awful hike many a night coming home from work whenever the lift would be broken down. 

“Yeah, yeah I’ll look for something better when I suddenly get rich” Louis rolls his eyes as he sits himself down on the window ledge. He can feel the mellow heat of the sun batter in through the thick windows and spread its warmth over his back in a way that feels like a hug from a very old friend. 

“Speaking of getting rich, how’s everything going with Harry? Is he paying you by the hour or…?” Liam chuckles cheekily and Louis knows that if Liam was here he’d definitely punch him in the arm for good measure. He can’t though, so he just balls up a fist and taps it impatiently against his knee. 

“Fuck off, alright? You make it sound...sleazy or something. To be honest we haven’t even talked about what he’s paying me. Everything’s fine though. His family are really nice, no, lovely actually. Like proper good people, you know?” Louis now unfurls his fist and traces a finger over the worn jean pattern of his thigh. 

In truth, Harry and him have not discussed anything to do with terms of payment or how much Louis even wants (which is a number Louis can’t even contemplate because how much does one get paid for being a fake boyfriend? Isn’t like there’s a standard rate or anything, is there?) but he knows in the end Harry will probably toss him a ridiculous amount because it seems that money is no object to him. But every time Louis thinks about taking money from Harry he is left with a distasteful bitterness on his tongue. 

“Sounds like you’re settling in alright then? No awkwardness or anything?” Liam’s breathing sounds a little more even now and that means he’s either stopped his walking to chat, or has already stopped outside Louis’ door. He can’t hear keys though so he imagines Liam splayed against the stairway wall- dark hair stuck to a sweaty forehead and chest puffing rapidly. 

“No awkwardness, no” Louis shakes his head, because truthfully there hasn’t been much tension between the two of them except for last night when they’d retreated to the bedroom, so Louis adds “well we slept together last night -”

“You did _what_?”

“No! No! Not like that, I meant in the same bed, like. Jesus, Liam” Louis stutters, feeling his face blush as furiously hot as the beaming sun because he’s just gotten a very unwelcome flash of something in his head that perfectly encapsulates Liam’s insinuation. 

“The _same_ bed? You didn’t sleep in a guest room or anything?” Liam asks, his voice slow and crackling pleasantly through the speaker pressed to Louis’ ear. 

“Well the guest rooms were turned into a gym and an office or something, I don’t know. But there was nowhere else to stay so we just like….slept in the same bed” Louis mutters the last part, his nail digging into his thigh and drawing whimsical lines on his jeans. When he notices that he’s repeating the letter _H_ over and over again, he draws his hand back with a frustrated sigh. 

“Were you alright with that? I mean, we’ve slept in the same bed but we’re mates, you know? We always crash together after a night out, but this is Harry” there’s a hundred insinuations and hidden notions in Liam’s voice and Louis can pick up on every single one of them. 

It always makes him uncomfortable when Liam will display an act of perception that slowly has him floored. He knows Liam gets him, _knows_ him and all the confused workings of his brain. He never outwardly says anything though, just puts all his deep thoughts inside innuendos and open ended questions in hopes that Louis will fill in the blanks one day. He never does. 

“Harry and I are mates now” is Louis’ answer, and Liam’s momentary silence on the other end seems like an answer too. 

“Yeah but it’s a bit diffr -” 

“Different? Is that what you’re going to say? Because it’s not, Liam. It’s _not_ ” Louis grits down on his teeth when he finishes talking and Liam’s breathing starts to pick up on the other end which means he’s probably started walking again. 

“Alright, Louis. It isn’t different at all” Liam’s tone of voice is dripping in sarcasm like the trickling of a thick blob of honey off a spoon. 

Liam’s duteous observations always irritate Louis to no end, and now is no different because, yeah sure, it _is_ different with Harry and once again Liam is right. 

He’s climbed into bed with Liam countless times after nights out, both drunk and falling on top of the covers with their clothes still on or fighting over who gets more blanket in their tipsy stupors. Most of his childhood had been spent having tremendously entertaining sleepovers with Stan, playing video games and ordering pizzas and even as they’d gotten older they would bunk into the same bed after clubbing. Those incidents have never caused his mind to feel such confusing thoughts or have his heart being misled with emotions. 

He has never laid awake for hours, afraid to even fall asleep in fears he’d roll over and touch one of them like he had last night, because he’d been terrified that he’d feel Harry’s body touch some part of his under the silky covers. He is fucking utterly pathetic, and he knows he’s going to have to sort himself out and get used to it since he’ll probably be spending the week sleeping beside him. Oh God, how is he going to stop himself from shattering his own facade this week? It almost seems like an impossible task to keep up this repressed pretence around a man like Harry. 

“So have you met the boyfriend yet?” Liam asks then, all derision gone from his voice. 

“ _Ex_ boyfriend, and not yet. We just spend the day at Harry’s yesterday, but today we’re heading to his Uncle’s fucking palace or some shit where the wedding will be held” Louis rolls his eyes at the sheer thought of it “so I guess I’ll be meeting him soon. Can’t wait to see what this smarmy prick is like in real life” 

“Sounds like you don’t like him already” Liam mocks with a mirthful laugh but all Louis does is scoff, because yeah, he doesn’t. 

“He hurt Harry. So you’re right. I don’t like him already” Louis states rather decidedly, but when he realises what he’s just said he inwardly groans at his own impetuosity when it concerns Harry. He’s careless with his emotions when it comes to him, he knows this already, but the care he feels for him is slightly unnerving. Yeah, he doesn’t know this Theo lad at all but some sort of silent fury bubbles up in his chest whenever he so much as thinks about him. Someone like Harry should never have been hurt at all. 

“I’m outside your door now. There’s a letter or something here for you” Liam decides to ignore Louis’ impassioned frustration with Harry’s ex then, which Louis is slightly grateful for. 

“A letter? Who is it from?” Louis asks curiously. 

“Uh it’s just a pink envelope with your name on it and a heart” Liam tells him then and Louis has to fight an urge within himself to not roll his eyes. He loses and displays the action with a vengeance. 

“Open it for me. I bet it’s from Tina” Louis sighs while running a hand through his hair and there’s not much sound on the other end for a while except the pleasant tinkling of keys turning in the lock and the rustling of paper as Liam opens the envelope. 

“It’s just a card with another heart on it. See you in two weeks. That’s all it says on the inside” Liam explains as the gentle sound of Louis’ door closing dully thumps through the phone. 

So he’d been wrong then in thinking that Tina had left England without leaving him any messages or calls. Instead she’s taken the more traditional route to deliver a note to his door. 

The sentiment would seem sweet in other circumstances but his heart is like a sleeping mockingbird in his chest and does not flutter its wings or thrum noisily against his ribcage. It’s a battered lump of rock that slowly sinks to the bottom of the ocean with no lustre or romanticism. Louis is pretty sure Shakespeare, or even the great John Donne himself would not have been able to conjure up an amorous sonnet to describe this false love of his. There is just no romanticising what isn’t real. 

“Yeah, that’s definitely from Tina” Louis says as he hears water running on the other end (clearly Liam is taking this whole watering Louis’ plants thing very seriously which he is very grateful for. He’s fond of his potted gardenias).

“Does she know where you are?” Liam asks him and Louis almost laughs out loud but hides the bitter scoff behind a hand. Jesus, he can only imagine what her reaction would be if she knew where Louis is right now. 

“No, she thinks I’m at home and she’s in New York with Georgia for midterm so everything worked out pretty nicely. Could you imagine if I’d told her I was pretending to be Harry’s lad for a week? She’d die, mate” Louis shakes his head “but everything’s complicated with her. We’re kind of broken up so I don’t really think she’d care? But then she left me a fucking note so I don’t know what the hell is happening with us” 

“Broken up or not, Louis, she thinks she has a claim on you. Remember that time last year when you guys split up for a couple weeks and she came between you and that blonde you were talking to at a bar? Jesus, I hadn’t even known Tina was there she just appeared out of nowhere” Liam chuckles down the phone and Louis cringes at the memory. 

In truth he’d been trying to get away from the pretty blonde with too white teeth and big false lashes. She’d been nice and had complimented him but he just hadn’t been feeling it, you know? Then like a spirit that haunts the moors Tina had appeared out of the smoke that was littering the dancefloor and had interrupted something that was never going to happen. 

Her clinginess had proved to be scary in the past, but Louis knows he’s just as much to blame because he’d taken her home that night and they had resumed their somewhat toxic relationship. 

“Yeah, she does think we’re gonna get married and all that stuff so she’s convinced I don’t belong to anyone else” Louis mumbles and can feel his heart clench itself into a knot at just the thought of that. 

“Well, maybe you just need to find someone you truly belong with, you know? Maybe you’ll meet them at this wedding” Liam teases and Louis can imagine him wiggling his eyebrows with that endearingly cheeky smirk on his face. How he’d love to slap it off of him right now, because he can almost _hear_ the hidden words within Liam’s spoken ones like the disembodied whisper of a ghost. 

“Hmm, doubtful, Payno. Anyway I gotta go” Louis says as he stands up from the window ledge, his eyes nervously darting towards the bedroom door. He has to mentally prepare himself now to head down the stairs to Harry’s family and keep up the whole boyfriend act. 

“Alright, mate. We’ll talk soon, yeah? Bye” Liam calls chirpily. 

“Bye, mate. Chat soon” Louis hangs up then and pockets his phone in his jeans. _Alright,_ he prepares himself, _time to spend another day being Harry’s boyfriend. You can do this, Louis._

The smell of cooking greets him as he descends the large staircase, the fatty scent of bacon wafting through the air along with the invitingly warm aroma of brewing coffee. He can hear the distant soft muttering of conversation, and the deeply sombre tone of Harry’s voice is the most recognisable to Louis’ ears and that sends some small thrill of electricity through him. 

“There you are” Harry greets Louis with a warm smile as soon as he enters the bright kitchen, and that small spark that had coursed through him at the mere sound of his voice now threatens to ignite like wildfire at the sight of him. 

He’s leaned against the marble island with one hand while the other grips the coffee mug his plump lips are stalled over. He’s handsomely dishevelled with his long messy curls and Rolling Stones shirt that has holes near the bottom. It’s almost unfair how much pain he puts Louis through, how much stabbing he feels in his heart whenever he’s around. But Harry doesn’t know that Louis is fighting a constant war with his inner moral sense of right and wrong and he has no damn clue that the spiritual compass that is embedded in his soul has no idea where to point. It’s needle acts haywire whenever he so much as puts his eyes on Harry, yet he can feel the magnet pull him homeward bound now and he surges towards him with determined feet.

“Ah, morning Louis!” Anne greets him with a fond smile from where she’s stood chopping strawberries into a bowl and Louis stalls midstep. Mildrid stands near the cooker with a spatula in her hand and throws Louis a welcoming look over her shoulder “we’re having breakfast outside this morning so grab something and join us!” 

“Will do, thanks Anne” Louis beams, his mind slowly regaining itself since her voice has cut through his haze. He’ll blame the fact he’s only just woken up on why his mind is running away with itself. 

“I have tea made for you” Harry tells him, a kind light in his green eyes as he nods towards a steaming blue mug that rests on the counter. 

“Thanks, Harry” Louis smiles appreciatively as he brings the mug towards him but when his hand goes to grab the bowl of sugar cubes that sit beside a jug of milk, Harry stops him with a shake of his head. 

“I put some in for you. You take two sugars, right?” his grin is infectious and so warm- his pure unadulterated kindness shining out of him like millions of spotlights intent on showing his true wonderful nature. He’s only put sugar into a cup of tea for heaven's sake, but he’s _remembered_ how many Louis likes. 

Louis can’t fathom the last time someone recalled something so insignificant about him- but it’s those seemingly unimportant things that people remember about you that makes you feel like they care or that you matter- and right now this small act makes Louis feel like he matters to Harry somehow. 

“Yeah, that’s right” Louis says but his voice sounds more like a sigh than actual words, and a lovely blush of obvious embarrassment at his own weakness casts itself on his face. He can feel how pink he’s turning (he reckons Mildred could fry her eggs on his face right now) and he looks away from Harry to stare into the warm amber of the tea inside his mug. 

“Did you sleep well?” Harry asks him then, all softness and tenderness in his eyes and that deeply comforting voice is like the crunch of leaves in autumn. Louis’ mouth turns dry then and he has to take a sip of his warm tea to alleviate his awkwardness (it’s deliciously sweet and just strong enough to soothe the ache in his bones) and he nods his head with a feigned smile once he swallows. 

“Yeah, I did, thanks” Louis lies through his smile and Harry seems to believe the falsity because those dimples of his fold themselves into his skin like little celestial craters. If the moon had a face it surely would be made in Harry’s image- all mysterious yet lighting up the darkest sky with its brilliance. Louis would be the sun with its ability to dazzle the world with a brightness strong enough to wash out certain parts of the truth. 

He sure is swapping the truth right now for a downright lie, because he’d slept as well as if he’d laid on a bed of nails all night. Harry on the other hand had been as comfortable as could be and had fallen asleep quite quickly- his light breathing and his magnetic body shuffling around in the sheets had become Louis’ accompanying soundtrack to his own confliction. 

“Good. Me too” Harry beams then as he begins to turn away “You grab whatever you want, I’ll save you a seat outside” 

He stalks away then with broad shoulders hunched as he holds his mug to his face and blows on his coffee ever so endearingly- pink lips plump and stout and Louis can only follow him in his eyeline as he disappears outside to the porch. He wants to rush after him, food be damned, because somehow over the last day he’s grown so used to his presence that he is starting to feel like a disembodied limb whenever he’s not around. 

If Louis thinks Harry is the moon well then Louis’ own soul must be the tempestuous sea that twists and rises into towering waves under the moon's gravitational pull. 

“You’re good for him, you know” Louis hears a voice then and his eyes jump from the doorway to the grinning woman beside him, her eyes that burn green like an agrestal field are shining with an adoration that has Louis’ throat constricting. 

“You think so?” Louis asks Anne, a genuine curiousness stewing inside him. His mind sneers at him then- _“why do you want to know?”_ it seems to ask him. _“Because I care”-_ his heart answers. 

“I really haven’t seen Harry smile so much since...Well you know” her voice gets lower then and the pretty plains of her rounded face colour a shade of forlorn white as the memory of her sons heartache comes back to her “even when he was with Theo I don’t think he smiled as much. He really does seem happy. Are you happy with him?” 

“Yes” the word comes out quickly like the swoosh of a held in breath or the first gasp of air after nearly drowning, but it rings through the kitchen like the final loud crack of a judge's gavel. Truthful and terrifying all at once. 

He guesses it’s not entirely a massive lie, because he has been happy here with Harry. Because they’re friends, and friends enjoy each other's company, right?

“I just want my little boy to be happy, Louis. It took him almost until Christmas to get over what happened to him. You should have seen him when he came home. He was so heartbroken, he didn’t even leave his room for weeks. He took down all his photos and painted the room black because he was just so down and out” Anne’s voice is tight with hurt and her eyes absently stare into Louis’ like she’s trying to delve inside him and seek out his true intentions with her son. But she seems happy with what she finds because she places a hand on Louis’ arm and smiles. 

“He’s been mine for twenty years, he’s my baby and he always will be and I would never part with him for anyone unworthy of him. But you, Louis, the way he looks at you is lovely to see. I’ve never seen him like that with anyone. Ever” she squeezes his arm and eyes him with a fondness that has him choking on the air circulating around them. 

“Well, I….feel the same about him” Louis states breathlessly with one of those face aching smiles that has the ability to crack right through his skin and cause him to mottle like paper mache. 

She’s satisfied with his answer because she takes her hand off his arm and pats his cheek with it instead, her fingers ghosting over the skin of his face with all the motherly tenderness she’s accumulated inside of her from raising two children. In that moment Louis aches for his own mother, but he can almost see her tender spirit glimmer through Anne’s eyes. All devoted mothers have the same beautiful soul within them, and Louis guesses he doesn’t have to look far for his mother when he has one so loving right here looking at him as if he was her own. 

She pats his face once more and then she whirls around in a graceful sashay that can only belong to the very established affluence of society. 

Her words ring through his head like pelting rain against a window and they begin to get so loud that he almost feels like covering his ears with his hands- but he can’t do much but stand dumbly like one of those Renaissance sculptures made of unmoving marble while his own heart batters against his frigid chest like a wild animal that’s been caged too long. 

He’s so thoroughly demented right now that he feels like his skull is about to crack open and reveal all the conflict that is stuffed into his cerebrum, and all his secrets will leak out of him like the red gush of fresh blood. 

_Fuck_ , Anne’s words are a heavy weight to carry on his small shoulders, because did Harry really look at him like that? Or is the imagination of a doting mother perceiving friendship for passion? Perhaps Harry’s general pleasantness around Louis is being misconstrued as an emotion similar to love or even strong adoration. 

To be truthful, Louis is always trying his very hardest to not look at Harry for too long or to not make any sort of longing eye contact, so he can’t really convince himself that Harry has never gazed at him as fondly as Anne has perceived him to. 

The thought of Harry actually having feelings for him is causing his heart to sing like the melodic whistle of a sparrow but his mind is planning its own funeral. He delights yet resents the notion of it all, but somehow like a biblical miracle, his thumping muscle beneath his chest is fighting the war with stronger forces and more determined allies. It roars inside his chest with all the vigour of a charging battalion and it causes a surge of undeniable warmth to course through him. 

Maybe his reality back home really is from another lifetime and here right now is the alternative universe that he has accidentally stepped into. This week, here in this world of riches and affluence, he really is Harry’s boyfriend and maybe just maybe he can allow himself to enjoy it until he has to be transported once again back to his dreary existence. 

Maybe he’ll see Harry gazing at him and perhaps he’ll gaze back. Like how the moon glances at the sun before it peaks behind the growing darkness. He’s always been a good actor so he can act the part as best as he can, right? No harm in that since that’s what he was brought here to do. 

He picks up the blue mug from the countertop and heads outside to the world of warm heat and roses littering the manicured garden, and all thoughts of pink envelopes with drawn on hearts and ex girlfriends and inner conflict is stored deep down in the back of his mind. 

He’s decided he’ll enjoy this pretending for now- for the short time that it will last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked? Now that Louis is determined to be the most convincing fake boyfriend ever we will have more touching ;)


	13. Chapter 13

_**Whatever you are looking for,** _

_**is looking for you too** _

_**\- S. Williams**_

Imagination seems to be a fickle thing when faced with reality, and that thought proves to be correct when Harry’s car elegantly rolls down the dusty road before his cousins house. When picturing the prestigious Styles estate Louis had never thought of imagining something like _this_. 

Sitting against the cerulean backdrop of the sky like something out of the pages of a Jane Austen novel is a colossal Palladian style house. It’s made of russet coloured brick and its front stands like the Corinthian Temple of Apollo with its large pillars of carved sandstone. The winding driveway bends around a greenery of trimmed grass, and on top rests a marvelous fountain that has three tiers of sculpted stone that looks like the open petals of flowers. Louis can count thirty windows at the front of the house, his wide blue eyes scanning disbelievingly out the car window. 

“Alright, this makes your place look like a hostel or something” Louis remarks as Harry takes a turn around the large house to where a trail of parked cars are lined up. There’s only about five of them, but each of them are shining brilliantly like dazzling displays of wealth. 

“Imagine it could have been ours if Dad had been the oldest” Gemma remarks from the back seat and Harry shakes his head with a laugh that bounces off the cars creamy interior, but Louis turns to her and rolls his eyes. 

“Ah yes, because your _four_ family properties are dismal in comparison. How very unfortunate for you” he does laugh then when she swipes a manicured hand towards his shoulder and swats him. He’s bantered with her for most of the drive, much to the annoyance of Harry who was solely intent on corrupting Louis towards his sister just for fun, but he has really gotten on with her the past day. 

“Oh hush, I just meant that this monstrosity could have been our family home. Or Harry’s family home if he’d taken over after Dad. Imagine if the two of you got married, then you would have lived here!” Gemma giggles with a sly glint in her cappuccino eyes and just like that Louis’ previous mirth is wiped from his face. 

“Well unfortunately Dad _was_ born last. Not much we can do about that” Harry says as he whips the keys out of the ignition, shooting Louis a look that seems an awful lot like an apology. Louis just gives Harry a smile that seems to ease the stony awkwardness in his posture. 

The air outside is beautifully warm with just the right amount of breeze fluttering through the ether, and Louis is very grateful that he’d decided to wear a light shirt this morning. He helps Gemma out of the car then, her long skirt of vivid red waving to just below her knee and a hand that is tipped with the same colour clutches Louis’ as she steps out of the Volvo with all the grace of a movie starlet. She shoots him a very grateful smile then, all sincerity and appreciation in her lovely face- and then just because she seems to be intent on being the embodiment of a vintage icon she slowly pulls on a pair of heart shaped glasses the colour of blood and stares up at the towering chunk of neoclassicism. 

“This will be fun boys” she says rather dryly “note my sarcasm, Louis” 

“Oh, I didn’t doubt for a moment that you weren’t being sincere” he grins as he strolls around to the boot of the car where Harry is now very diligently hauling out the luggage.

“Come on, Gems. It will be fun! Weddings are always brilliant, right? Lots of food, free alcohol and dancing” Harry tries to cheer his sister up while attempting a very poor imitation of a dance- his hips just wiggle awkwardly and his arms flail around but Louis can’t help but smile at his silliness. 

“Yes, Harry. But I am the maid of honour during this particular wedding. I’ve to help Poppy with everything. Her dress, her veil, make sure her hair stays perfect and I’ve to do a stupid speech too! There will be no getting drunk and frolicking in the fountain for me!” Gemma pouts her full lips like a petulant toddler. 

“Frolicking in the fountain while drunk does sound fun, doesn’t it?” Louis raises an eyebrow towards Harry and he just grins in response “might have to do that, pity you won’t be able to join us, Gemma” 

She doesn’t say anything else then but just stalks away towards the house, and Louis can imagine her rolling those eyes behind her heart shaped glasses. Louis helps Harry to unload the bags then and they both begin to walk towards the large stone steps that lead up the front of the house. 

Once under the shade of the pillared porch, the large open door beckoning them forward, Harry stops Louis with a hand wrapped around his elbow. Just the touch of his skin off Louis’ causes tiny prickles of electricity to settle deep into his bones, and just because he’s decided to allow himself to deviate from his idea of normality this week he leans into his touch with a sigh. 

“Are you still okay? Like with all of this?” Harry takes his hand away then to gesture towards the house. Clearly he wants to know whether or not Louis is still on board with the whole fake dating thing and his green eyes that glint just nicely under the sun are studying him ever so carefully “I really don’t want you feeling uncomfortable”

Admittedly Louis is a little nervous and that feeling probably won’t go away anytime soon but he’s trying ever so hard to shove it down and replace it with an overwhelming sense of calm, and as he stares back into Harry’s eyes he can feel some small semblance of tranquility wash over him like a wave rolling into the tide. He’ll be alright as long as he has Harry beside him to protect him from any suffocation that this whole act will cause him. 

“Yeah, course I’m okay with it. Don’t be daft, Harold” Louis smiles with a nod of his head “now after you” 

Harry gives him that award winning grin of his with perked up full lips and glimmering eyes, and that damned dimple jumps out on the side of his face like a little pocket of cuteness. Louis holds his eyes for a second, just allowing himself to dedicate the shade of them to memory and then Harry looks away as he strolls before Louis through the large door. 

If the outside is any sort of testament to the notion of ostentatiousness, well then the interior completely sells it. Louis almost lets his mouth drop open as he ambles into the entrance hall, but he tries to hold himself together as he takes in the sight before him. 

The walls are all made of warm gold stone with carvings of archways indented into them where marble busts of ancient figures rest proudly like museum displays, and every metre or so along the expanse hang massive portraits even bigger than the ones in Harry’s house. The floor is that same black and white checkerboard print, each square polished perfectly, and vaulting off from the middle of the floor is a winding staircase that joins the wall where it sweeps into a curve. 

Once when he was twelve his year had gone to Brodsworth Hall in South Yorkshire for a field trip, and he can’t even recall if it had been as grand as this. He feels like he’s just been transported back to the 16th Century, or is now tucked between the lines of the flowing narrative of Pride and Prejudice. 

He doesn’t have much time to gawk however, since Gemma who is now standing in the corner of the hall with a man, waves them over enthusiastically. Harry turns to look at him then, abandoning the hold on his case and leaving it beside a trail of others that rest near the doorway. 

“That’s my dad with Gemma” he tells Louis, an apprehensiveness in his eyes that causes the pit of Louis’ stomach to perform ridiculous somersaults “right, let me introduce you” 

He suddenly has a ridiculous urge to hold Harry’s hand, to wind his fingers through his like he had when they’d walked along that dock, but he refrains from doing so (he’d probably look stupid if he did anyway and it would probably scare Harry) and just wrings them in front of him as he follows him across the entrance. 

“Dad!” Harry greets chirpily, big arms opening wide to engulf the slightly smaller man in a tight hug. 

He hugs back fiercely, his face smushing against his son's shoulder with a big smile lighting up his handsome features. He looks exactly like how Louis’ pictures Harry will look at his age- same shade of dark hair and while his father's locks are shorter, it still curls just as delicately. His pink lips are still smiling and he has the same cratered dimple beside them, just on the opposite side as his son’s. Louis watches the whole exchange with a strange ache in his heart that twinges dully like the absence of a needed memory. 

“Harry! My boy, you’ve gotten taller again” his father exclaims fondly as he pulls away, green eyes glinting as he takes his son in. Harry just smiles back and then turns to Louis with an even bigger grin on his face that seems to be solely constructed to put Louis at ease, yet he suddenly feels miniscule when Edward Styles bright green eyes land on him. 

“Dad, this is Louis Tomlinson” Harry introduces with a wave of his hand, never taking his eyes off of Louis’ face “and Louis this is my dad, Edward” 

He certainly looks every inch the intimidating politician in his immaculate suit and with his electric eyes that Louis is certain would hold the attention of the stiffest parliament members during debates. He’s taller than Louis too, and he cocks his chin a little as he surveys him. He has no idea how this man will perceive him and a poignant sense of fear drills through him like a bullet. 

What if this man is like his own father? What if he has decided to already despise him? Perhaps he can accept Harry because he is his own son, but maybe the idea of Harry having a “ _boyfriend_ ” is not entirely welcomed. Harry had said he hadn't told his father about his summer romance with Theo, hadn’t he? 

But all doubts and fears vanish like a puff of magicians smoke when he’s swaddled into a pair of engulfing arms. His breath is swooshed out of him and his face is crushed into a chest that is clothed in a shirt of cobalt blue and he feels like he might just suffocate under the sheer affection of it all. 

“Louis! I’ve been so excited to meet you! Anne’s already told me good things about you. I didn’t even know Harry had a boyfriend, but I’m so happy for you son” he grins as he lets Louis go and looks at Harry with an almost bashful sort of expression over his face “you _are_ boyfriends, right? I’m not just assuming anything here and embarrassing myself, am I?” 

There’s a beat of hesitation, one that lasts just a few very awkward seconds that consists entirely of apprehensive glances between him and Harry, and then Louis decides to say “Yeah, we’re dating” 

“Splendid! I’m happy for you Harry, truly” Edward beams “and I suppose I have to welcome you to the family, Louis. I also feel obligated to warn you that we are a little crazy us Styles” 

“Thank you sir, and I did think that myself when I met Gemma'' Louis jokes which gets a laugh from Harry and his dad and a snort from Gemma, but her glossy lips twitch into a smile. 

“You lot should go and get settled in soon, Poppy is around here somewhere, she’s allocating rooms to everyone. I swear I’ve never seen someone so highly strung, you’d swear she was planning someone else's wedding and not her own” Edward rolls his eyes “I got here this morning and she was running around like she’d lost her head” 

“Oh wonderful!” Gemma drawls rather sarcastically “she’ll probably have me bending over backwards for her this week, but let's go find her. I need to start unpacking before my clothes get all creased” 

She links her arm through her dad’s then, and the four of them then stroll through a long hallway that is wallpapered with a rather intricate design of cherry blossom branches. Every two metres or so along the polished floor there are marble pillars that host the busts of sculpted figures of who Louis assumes can only be generations of Styles’ ancestors. They're all the same shade of off white, and they look like those moulded heads of Roman leaders one might see in a history museum or something. 

“I broke one of these in my Gran’s house years ago. Most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me” Harry leans into Louis’ ear in a whisper as he points to the eyeless heads, and Louis tries hard not to shiver at how he can feel his warm breath tickle the pulse point of his neck. He can feel the little flecks of goosebumps traitorously expand on his skin, and he clamps a hand over his arm to rub it up and down furiously in an attempt to rid himself of them. 

“I’d say that was rather hilarious actually. I’d love to have seen you shit yourself when you broke it” Louis whispers back which gets a giggle out of Harry- one that soars through the air delicately like the effortless flight of a swallow. 

A murmur of chatter greets them then when they walk out of an arched doorway onto a large porch of golden sandstone. The sun is warm and welcoming and glints across the expansive gardens, and in the distance Louis can spy a maze that is dotted with various coloured roses. There’s a group of three people sitting under a large white parasol that rests over a table, and all of them stop their conversation when they notice the others approaching. 

“If it isn’t my wonderful grandchildren!” a voice that has a rasp to it that can only be attributed to smoking too many cigarettes over an extensive lifetime greets them in a crackle. It belongs to a rather glamorous woman in a white linen suit who sits tucked under the shade of the parasol. Her hair is snow white and twisted atop her head with a glimmering clip of silver that glints as alluringly as the string of pearls around her neck. 

“Granny!” Gemma greets chirpily as she rushes over to hug the elderly woman. 

“That’s my grandma, Diana Styles. She’s my only grandparent who’s still alive but she’ll probably outlive all of us” Harry bends down to Louis’ ear again and this time he doesn’t even try to hide the shiver that wracks his body then. He really can’t when it comes on him with all the force of an electric shock. 

They walk closer to the table then and her dark stare looms over Gemma’s shoulder to study Louis up and down. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more intimidated by a senior citizen before. But this woman holds in her all the captivating regalness of a time long forgotten with her austere face and the pompous lift of her chin.

“Now I know you didn’t have another child and not tell us, Edward. As precarious as you are I don’t think you’d neglect to tell your mother something like that” Diana says as her brown eyes peer into Louis’ “so who might this be?” 

“Oh Granny! This is Harry’s boyfriend. Remember I told you he was coming on the phone yesterday?” Gemma rolls her eyes as she places a hand on the woman's shoulder, but her eyes don’t leave Louis for a second. She seems quite intent on drinking in his appearance and studying every insignificant shift in his body language. Louis only realises then how close he’s suddenly gotten to Harry when he can feel his chest against his shoulder- he’s practically curling himself towards him in defence. 

“Come sit with me, Louis. I may be old but I can appreciate the company from a pretty face” she pats a wrinkled hand on the seat beside her and Louis moves when he feels the comforting display of Harry’s hand on his lower back. 

“Granny, this is Louis. Louis, my grandmother Diana” Harry introduces him cordially as they both take a seat at the table “this is my great Aunt Stevie and my father's brother, my Uncle Richard” 

“Hello, everyone. Nice to meet you all” Louis greets with the friendliest smile he can muster on his face and each person at the table reciprocates genuinely. Even Diana's wrinkles seem to smooth out now since she must decide Louis to be worth having as company. 

Richard looks much the same as his younger sibling but he has his mother's warm brown eyes instead of the viridescent emerald like his nephew and brother. When he smiles there’s no dimple, but it’s genial upon his handsome face and Louis feels a sudden easiness wash over him. There is something about the Styles men that is oddly appeasing. 

His Aunt Stevie sits amongst the backdrop of sunny pleasantness like an emotive ghost, dressed in black leather and lace and has a very large cigarette floating languidly in one hand. She’s youthfully presented in her image despite the age lines on her face and her long blonde hair flows past her bust, and as he studies her Louis is immediately reminded of one of those ethereal rockers from the seventies. He can imagine her somehow influencing Harry while growing up, and his secretive theory makes him smile a little at the thought. 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Louis” Stevie greets him, the same smoky tone in her voice as Diana’s but where hers is rich with British eloquence Stevie’s voice is brashly American. It’s only slightly surprising for a second and then Louis decides that he rather likes her accent- it kind of just adds to her overall quirkiness. 

“You are quite the rascal, Harold, hiding something like this from your dear grandmother. The first time I heard of this romance of yours was only last night when Gemma called me” Diana scolds Harry after a long drag of her cigarette, the dense cloud of it swirls around her head and she ever so gracefully swipes it away. 

“Oh leave them alone!” Stevie protests and then she leans over the table closer to Louis, the velvet elbows of her coat resting on the white painted wood “Just ignore my sister, Louis. She’s awfully nosey” 

“Just because you’ve spent most of your life in America, abandoning your British heritage might I add, does not mean you get to be so liberal. I like knowing everything about my grandchildren’s lives, it keeps me going” Diana sniffs indignantly while Stevie rolls her eyes. 

“Sorry Granny, we were just...taking things slow, I guess” Harry mumbles with a blush on his cheeks and his grandmother scoffs with a raise of an eyebrow as she lets her eyes trail over Louis’ form. 

“Taking things slow? With a fellow like this? My, my I wouldn’t have been able to control myself in my youth” she guffaws with a wave of her hand, her cigarette tip dripping ash onto the surface of the table. Louis can feel himself blush right up to his hairline but at the same time he can feel himself smile. My, whoever would have thought an old lady like Diana could be so promiscuous? 

“Mama, don’t be so crude!” Harry’s uncle scolds, his thick brows furrowing ever so disapprovingly “Honestly, Louis don’t mind her. I think she’s forgotten her manners in her old age” 

“Or just tired of showing them” Diana grumbles while bringing a bony hand to fix the tendrils of fly away hair that whip around her face. She would have been elegantly stunning in her youth, Louis ponders, yet even now she has a very regal beauty about her. 

They all slip into humble conversation then where pleasantries are intent on covering up Louis’ interrogation, but he doesn’t really mind at all as he answers questions about his university courses and his job and where he’s from. He appreciates the unspoken rule that clearly stops any sort of probing about his family because he doesn’t really want to have to get into that with people he’s only just met. 

They’re chatting about the upcoming nuptials, Harry’s grandmother nattering on about how she hopes her dietary requirements have been taken seriously by the catering staff ( _I am allergic to shellfish so I better not be served any, and do not get me started on dairy! I can no longer tolerate that in my old age!_ ) when Louis suddenly gasps aloud and grips Harry’s arm tightly. 

He flicks his green eyes towards him then, a rapid concern swarming around the vivid pools and making his handsome face flicker with care, but Louis is too intent on the figure that is walking towards them with a jolly smile on his face. 

“That’s….that’s _James Corden_!” Louis hisses close to Harry’s ear, not at all taking into consideration how tightly he’s holding onto him (he now has his two hands firmly wrapped around his bicep) or how close their faces are. 

“Yeah, that’s Poppy’s fiance” Harry says rather slowly, all concern vanishing from his eyes to be replaced by a very obvious confusion. 

“Wait, your cousin is marrying James Corden? Like _the_ James Corden who wrote Tattoo Roulette?” Louis feels like he might pass out in a moment as the figure of his favourite modern author gets closer to him. He’d only queued outside the bookshop back home for five hours when the third installment of the rather enthralling gangster series was released. He’d finished it in two days and hadn’t left his apartment once (much to the annoyance of Liam who had wanted to spend that weekend getting wasted) and now the very man who had written those magnificently violent and thrilling books is standing right in front of him. 

“You’re a fan, then? I never even thought of mentioning it to be honest” Harry tells him, his large body sagging against Louis’ and although his clutch on his arm lessens Louis still doesn’t let him go. Perhaps he doesn’t want to just yet in fears he may faint with the sheer star struck numbness rushing through him. 

“A fan? Tattoo Roulette is only the best crime series _ever_. A story about gangsters who run an underground business through tattoo shops is right up my street” Louis whispers lower as James comes to stand before the table. 

“Says a boy who has zero tattoos” Harry scoffs with a raise of his eyebrow as he cocks his head to look at Louis. 

“Can’t all be inked up like you can we, Harold? Some of us wouldn’t pull it off” Louis says as he prods a finger into Harry’s ship that stretches across the expanse of his upper arm “who knows maybe one day I’ll have as many as you” 

“I’d like to see that actually” Harry says then, his voice low and dripping with something that has Louis’ stomach curling in on itself, and he can feel icy sharp claws burrow inside of him with all the pain of a thousand stab wounds. But still he doesn’t relent his hold on Harry (and he really should because his momentary shock has well passed) and chooses to ignore whatever creature is nefariously digging holes inside of him. 

“Harry and Gemma! When did you guys get here?” James says with probably the friendliest and softest voice Louis has ever heard. He’s dressed in a simple, light purple shirt and slacks and his blond hair is tousled against his forehead, yet somehow he still manages to exude a persona of prestige. 

“Just about twenty minutes ago” Harry answers with a smile “and can I introduce you to Louis Tomlinson, who almost had a heart attack when he saw you just now” 

He wants to protest towards that statement because it is clearly not true (Harry makes him sound like some vapid teenage girl who just met her boy band idol) but he can't say anything and all he does is dig his fingers into Harry's arm. 

Louis can feel his heart stutter in his chest when James lands his eyes on him and smiles so brightly that the sun scoffs rather enviously in the sky. He’s about to talk to his favourite modern day author, what will he say? His tongue feels rather heavy in his mouth and he can only imagine what he would be like if he could somehow resurrect Wilde or Fitzgerald and have a conversation with them. He’d probably sob into Oscar’s arms or faint at the mere sight of Francis Fitzgerald. Oh behold! He’s pathetic when it comes to poets and novelists and he knows it. 

“Louis Tomlinson” Louis greets as he finally lets Harry go to outstretch a hand “I’m a massive fan” 

_Alright Louis, not bad. Good on you-_ he inwardly praises himself for not sounding like a complete fool. 

“Really? Well I’m flattered. Thank you” James takes his outstretched hand with a grin and shakes it with a professional efficiency “always nice to meet a fan, but it’s even nicer when they’re part of the family now” 

He gestures towards the little space that now rests between Harry and Louis’ bodies and winks ever so obviously. Louis is actually so nervous that he giggles stupidly and unabashedly, and can’t even bring himself to pull away from Harry like he might have a week ago. He knows that Louis and who he is right in this minute are very different, but he keeps reminding himself that his boundaryless behaviour is all to convince people of this false truth he and Harry are supposed to be selling this week. _Yeah, that’s why-_ his inner conscience scoffs at him. 

“Looking forward to talking to you more, Louis. I’ve got to dash now. I’ve a suit fitting” James says as he rolls his eyes rather dramatically “you’re coming too, Richard?”

“Oh yes, father of the bride needs his suit too” Richard smiles as he stands and before they both saunter off towards the doorway they nod courteously towards Louis.

He feels almost like he really is part of the family and it’s odd to think that these affluent people are so accommodating and accepting towards Harry and his _boyfriend_. It’s almost baffling to compare his own father towards Edward who had engulfed him in a rather paternal hug and who had just readily validated him with open affection. If this situation was reversed and Louis introduced Harry as his boyfriend, well then he’s sure his father would surely have an aneurysm. He almost scoffs at the notion of such a thought because why would he ever do something like that? It's not like he wants a lad to bring home. What an inconceivable thought. 

“Will we go find our room then?” Harry asks Louis when the others resume conversation, and a large lump begins to form in his throat that threatens to cut off his breathing. _Our room_. Those two words have the power to fuck over Louis’ head in utter confusion because he can’t comprehend whether or not he should be delighted or terrified at the thought of sharing a bed with him for the second night in a row. 

“Yeah sure” he manages to say with a vigorous nod of his head and the two of them excuse themselves politely from the table and begin to make their way into the house. Louis can almost feel their eyes boring into the back of them and how their pause of conversation will most likely be resumed when he’s out of sight- they’ll probably chatter about him but he’s okay with that, he thinks he has made a fair impression on them so whatever they say won’t be too bad. 

“You should have seen yourself, Louis” Harry laughs as soon as they step inside “you were so starstruck over James” 

“I was not, alright!” Louis huffs out, feeling that awfully traitorous blush blossom on his skin. He knows he probably did look ridiculous- all red faced and spluttering -but meeting one’s favourite writer doesn’t happen everyday. 

“ _I’m a massive fan_ ” Harry mimics Louis’ previous declaration with a squeaky voice and a rather terrible Yorkshire accent. Louis juts his hip out and knocks it into Harry’s side, which the taller boy does back with an even greater force. 

“Oh shut it, Harold! I am a big fan, alright? Nothing wrong with that” Louis laughs as he twirls to avoid Harry’s attempt at hitting his hip off Louis’ again. 

“Maybe you and James should get married! I’ll just tell Poppy to call it all off now” he laughs heartily, and Louis glares at him with squinted eyes and a face darkened with humiliation. 

“That’s enough out of you” Louis warns lightly, poking Harry’s side with a finger but the other boy is quick and does it back and Louis yelps when Harry’s hand grips the soft part of his waist and tickles cruelly. 

They stand in the hallway amongst the watchful empty eyes of marble statues, trying their hardest to tickle and poke the other while laughing loudly and stumbling on uneasy feet like children. Louis manages to get Harry in a headlock at one stage, the other boy’s laughter tremendously light and free, but when he attempts to stand up he stumbles and knocks his larger body against Louis’. 

The wall of cherry blossoms becomes a resting place for Louis’ back as he rather ungracefully falls against it, and the sudden weight on his chest nearly makes him breathless. All laughter and playfulness is now snuffed out like how a candle flame vanishes under the force of a breeze, and as Louis stands up straighter he’s suddenly aware that the heaviness against him is staring into his soul with a pair of green eyes. His back is pressed firmly against a wall yet he feels like he’s suddenly going to become boneless and lose any sense of stability around him. 

Harry’s face is just inches from his, minty breath fanning over Louis’ skin and tickling the strands of hair that are feathered around his forehead. He stares at him now with a calm sort of wildness in his eyes, and as Louis stares back he can’t help but feel lost in the most welcoming way. Like how one might feel strolling through a forest at dawn- a little bit unfamiliar but still able to appreciate the beauty of their surroundings. 

In his attempt to steady himself Harry has placed his hands on the wall and they now rest behind Louis’ head, those tattooed arms like bars of a cage around him. But Louis doesn’t feel trapped or suffocated, just warm and safe like how one should feel walking through the front door of their home. 

They’re just standing here, in a hallway while pressed against the wall, and Louis can not find the power inside of himself to move or push Harry away. He should have done that the moment they’d clumsily collided. He should have pushed Harry off with a playful nudge and a laugh and hidden his own weak deviance behind his perfected masculinity. 

But he can’t move- and he can’t push him away. Maybe he really is weak, and maybe he really is just that sordid sort of person his father always told him he was. Maybe he doesn’t want this and this is all just some sick joke his mind is playing on him. 

But he knows just like the natural phenomenon that is gravity, Harry has a way about him that pulls Louis in. It’s like a constant magnetic presence that he just can’t shake, and the same way he knows how a book that's been knocked from a shelf will always fall to the ground, Louis will always be drawn towards Harry. 

He’s just going to have to make peace with that notion inside his head, no matter how much the beasts inside of him choke at the thought. 

Harry flickers those eyes towards Louis’ lips then, and there’s a moment where Louis is readily convinced that he’s going to kiss him- he even thinks he imagines Harry leaning in ever so slightly. But of course, someone interrupts. Louis doesn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed. He’s not sure he can feel anything. 

“Boys, please save that for the bedroom” Gemma drawls as she waltzes towards them, her arm linked with a smiling blonde. Louis almost jumps away from Harry then like he’s just been caught stealing a jewellery store by the police. 

“Poppy! We were going to look for you, couldn’t find you earlier” Harry says, running two hands through his long hair and oh my, his face is beet red “we wanted to see what room we’re in” 

“Sorry darling, I just got off the phone with the florist. They had me on hold for twenty minutes, can you believe that? There’s a mix up with the colour of the bouquets and I’ve just been having an utter crisis all morning” Poppy says as she lets go of Gemma and saunters towards Harry. She takes his face in both of her hands and kisses his cheeks. 

“Louis, right?” she gives Louis a dazzling smile with pearly teeth and sparkly green eyes as soon as she let's Harry go. She’s very pretty with blonde pin curls cascading down her cherub like face, and her blue sundress wraps around her rather curvaceous frame. She almost looks like a pinup model from the fifties, and she winningly grins infectiously as she extends a ringed hand towards him. Louis isn't sure whether he's supposed to kiss it or shake it. 

“Nice to meet you" Louis coughs out as he takes her hand in his, inching away from Harry ever so discreetly now since he’s embarrassed they’ve just been caught in such a suspicious looking position. These people are convinced they’re actually dating. Jesus, his cousin probably thought they had been snogging or something.

“Lovely to meet you too” Poppy grins politely and then she turns to her cousin with those twinkling eyes “Harry I’ve given you the blue room since that’s the only bedroom with a piano. I do love when you play, so I knew you’d enjoy it” 

“Thanks, Poppy. That’s great” Harry beams rather genuinely then at the thought of having his favourite instrument reunited with him. 

"I don't mean to be a rude host but I've to go and actually visit the florist shop now since they can't understand exactly what I want" she rolls her heavily lined eyes of jade green "at least I have my maid of honour with me to help. Finally" 

"Yes, finally. Thank god" Gemma smiles tightly, throwing a look of pure agony over her shoulder as Poppy steers her away. Louis and Harry both wave at her with plastered on grins that are fully intent on annoying her. 

"See you darlings later!" the future bride calls back with a toss of her bouncy curls over a freckled shoulder, and then both elegant women are gone out of sight as they disappear through the front door. 

There's a tangible tension in the air then, and wavering in the silence is the unsaid explanation of what just happened between them, and words float around in the ether that are begging to be said but neither Louis or Harry choose to acknowledge them- instead deciding to ignore what kind of weight would be placed upon their shoulders if they so much as uttered them. 

Louis can feel his mind and heart battle against one another with forked tongues and sharpened claws, and it's painful and exhilarating all at once because throughout the caution that is slowly trickling through his head there is a sense of elation that pumps his heart up like a balloon. His body shakes where he stands as he remembers how Harry's eyes of deep emerald had traced the outline of his lips. Louis' own lips tingle with the thought of how Harry's would feel against them yet he chokes on non existent poison as the notion blooms in his head. 

"You want to head upstairs then?" Harry's soft voice says, and Louis snaps his head to where he now stands before him - a hand in his hair and a sheepish look on his face. 

"Yeah" is Louis' intricate response and both of them take up the task of hauling their luggage up the grand staircase and neither look at one another again. 

All the while Louis is reminded of Anne's words from this morning, and the very memory of them threatens to halt his very movements and the thrumming of his heart. What if Harry really had just wanted to kiss Louis? What if he really did have feelings for him? The very notion of that seems slightly inconceivable, but then again Louis had seen a spark of something undeniably adoring in his eyes not moments ago when he was pressed against him. 

If there's any semblance of trepidation inside of him that could turn to pure fear at the thought of Harry liking him, well it seems to stay dormant. 

He feels like he's going to give himself a headache from all the conflicting thoughts and multiple personalities that are trying to cram themselves in his brain. One moment he's completely terrified to let Harry close to him, and the next he's pressed against a wall and staring longingly into his eyes. 

He eyes Harry now as they come to the top of the stairs, and he lets himself study his broad frame as he ambles down the hallway, and Louis wishes that he could just figure himself out already. He really is becoming exhausted playing someone he's heard he's supposed to be, but he can't get a solid grip on who he really is because that boy is buried too far down beneath blankets of shame and confusion. He can't even remember how it felt to be that person because all he feels now is a desperate need to constantly show a hardened shell of himself. 

But maybe, just maybe, the boy who walks before him is reminding him of who he really is. 

Sometimes, deep down within the murky depths of his conscience he can hear a voice calling to him like the echoing scream of a ghost who haunts the foggy moors of his memories. He can hear it beg him to stop hurting all the time. To just stop pretending. To _remember_. 

_Yes, I'm trying-_ Louis tells it now - _when I'm with him all I do is try._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Much love x


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an induction day at work today, and can I just say that being back in the school I work at made me an emotional wreck? Like am I crazy or...? It was just so strange after not being there for four months. Also one of my colleagues (who's also 23 and is my best work mate) will not be returning at all so I'm the youngest member of faculty! Awesome just awesome. Not really, because who else will I be able to gossip with? I also have a shit tonne of paper work to do so I apologise if this chapter is terrible which I feel that it is. In the words of Louis Tomlinson "Everything is great. Everything is fucking great"  
> Anyway enjoy!

_**If someone makes you feel;** _

_**let them** _

_**\- Reyna Biddy** _

The soft tinkling of piano keys mix with the dull thrum of the water that runs from the steel shower head- and as Louis stands under the cloud of steam that slowly billows around him he rests his forehead against the cool tiles of the wall. The hot water trickles down his back and over his shoulders in snaking trails, and his whole body heaves with the kind of exhaustion that can only exist deeply rooted within one’s mind. 

He’s tried so hard to ignore the shifting feeling that has been growing inside of him ever since he’d felt Harry’s body pressed against his own, and it’s gnawing a hole within his heart that is allowing something that feels an awful lot like realisation to sink in. 

He keeps replaying the moment over and over in his head and has even let his mind wander with endless scenarios of what could have happened if he’d just been brave enough to lean in an extra few inches. But perhaps he’d imagined the whole thing and maybe Harry hadn’t looked at him so adoringly at all. 

Had Louis even wanted to kiss Harry? Does he want to kiss him even _now_? Just imagining it sends a thrill up his spine that has the power to paralyze him, but it also makes his stomach coil in on itself like a deflating balloon. 

He groans in frustration and presses his forehead even harder into the cool speckled tiles (he’s sure if he pulls away he’ll find he’s dented his skin with the pattern but he can’t seem to care). Perhaps the soothing coolness will dissipate any incessant imaginings from his head, he ponders silently to himself. But of course it doesn’t work. How can it when the object of his torture is outside playing the piano so elegantly? 

After he and Harry had settled into their room they had returned downstairs, and the rest of the evening had been spent pleasantly enough under the shaded expanse of ivory parasols and an undulating cloud of cigarette smoke, and both he and Harry had engaged in comfortable conversation with one another and with his family members. It seemed like both of them had decided to just ignore whatever it was that had happened between them. 

They’d chatted with his grandmother some more (until she had complained about the growing strength of the sun and retreated to the drawing room) and had joined Gemma and Poppy for tea when they had come back from the florists. Poppy had been in high spirits while nattering on to Louis (apparently the flowers were perfect now that the florist completely understood what she wanted. Louis is certain no service would put up with such a highly strung bride unless they were one as rich as Poppy Styles) and Gemma had rolled her eyes to Louis over the rim of her tea cup every time Poppy spoke. Louis found the whole thing quite hilarious. They’d all been delighted when Anne and Charles had sauntered into the Styles Estate later on in the day, even Harry’s dad had made them welcome as they’d sat around drinking glasses of wine. 

Louis had sat beside Harry the whole time while the family had congregated quite happily together- laughing and talking to one another- yet the whole time Louis had been unable to notice anything other than the fact that Harry had his arm mere millimetres from Louis’ as he’d rested it on the armrest of his chair. Louis had felt that undeniable spark tickle the very depths of his soul and cause his stomach to flip over itself at the sheer magnetism within the small space between their bodies - the whole thing had been very irritating yet intoxicating all at once. 

He wonders if he’ll ever decide on just one emotion whenever he’s around Harry instead of this confusing paradox of feelings that are hoarded within him. He’s always been that way though- a walking paradox with smiling eyes and a closed off soul. 

But despite his utter uncertainty, he is sure that something between them has changed. Louis knows that no matter how much he denies it there is no ignoring the fact that the tension between them has shifted to one that is tantalising and a little flirtatious. 

He had caught Harry staring at him from the corner of his eye a few times while they’d sat outside on the stone porch, yet Louis knows he can’t analyse the situation too much because he had been doing it too. Louis just couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of him in fears that he’d blink and somehow he would find that Harry had disappeared and all of this would have been some fever dream of his. They’d sat there underneath the shade, arms almost touching and Harry’s long legs angled towards him and Louis had felt something warm blooming inside his chest the entire time. 

No matter what his head is telling him, he knows that his body has never wanted to touch another person so much in all his life. He had just wanted to shift his arm an inch closer, or maybe point his own knees towards Harry’s so that they might knock against his and even when Gemma had been speaking it was Harry he stared at. 

God, he is so utterly and miserably inadequate that he can’t even articulate his own feelings into something sensible. He’s pathetic really, and his heart can’t help but arouse pity within him while his mind sneers horrid things and tries to convince him of the facade he’s supposed to portray of this apathetic man. 

He switches off the water with a harsh jab at the power button and just stands there for a moment in the middle of the shower tray, unmoving and numb. He imagines that the tiny droplets of water that run off his skin are all his thoughts of self hatred, all his bottled up feelings and repressed emotions and he watches as they swirl down the drain to hopefully get lost forever. 

He almost wishes he had never agreed to this whole thing because now he’s feeling all of these emotions that he’s sure he wouldn’t have felt at all if he’d just stayed at home tucked away in his flat. Well, he supposes that the world would always look darker without the lights on, than it would seem if they had never shone at all. That’s exactly how Louis feels right now. 

He’s running a towel through his hair when he steps out of the bathroom, and he peers around the doorway to make sure Harry isn’t anywhere in sight (he doesn’t know how he’d act if Harry caught sight of him in just a towel. Louis would most definitely have a stroke, or turn the shade of a pomegranate). The large double doors that stand before the bed are slightly opened and beyond them is a suite that consists of a large couch and a polished piano- the one that Harry now plays with all the fluidity of a Renaissance maestro. 

Louis had found himself glaring at the instrument with a furrowed intent while Harry had taken his turn in the shower, and had nearly sat on his hands to stop himself from playing it. He hasn’t touched the keys of a piano since his mother died, because every time he would even consider playing he would be reminded of all those times she would ask him to play for her. 

She would sit in the sunroom of their house, curled feet tucked beneath her as she’d splay out on the couch with a mug of tea, her brilliant blue eyes intent on her son as he’d tinkle away at an original composition or play something relevant (he’d always loved playing music by The Fray) and those memories are now reserved within a safe place inside his mind. 

She’d surprised him one evening after school with his very own Spinet and Louis had felt then in that moment that he’d never seen anything more perfect- it’d been second hand and a little small but it had sat tucked away perfectly in the corner of the living room and had added character to their little Yorkshire council house. He can think of those shadowy vague memories that are lumped together with facts, but if he digs deeper beneath their veil it will reveal those small details that he’s not ready to remember just yet. 

He likes to imagine that he’s crammed memories into separate spaces within his head, like how one might place certain objects into cardboard boxes when they move house. 

He would label memories of his father, the summer he was fifteen, the day he ripped down his rainbow banners and boy band posters from his bedroom walls and all of those years he spent sitting in his room staring into the mirror and hating the person looking back at him, inside a box called _“Try not to think of this too much”_. 

He would label the box that is filled with memories of his beautiful mother as “ _Filled with sunshine- but too painful to think of right now”_

These memories that he’s making this week with Harry, as fleeting as they are, remain unnamed because he can’t quite seem to come up with anything. Perhaps he’ll box them up so tightly under layers of bubble wrap and duct tape and not label it at all- perhaps he’ll just tuck the box on a high shelf and allow it to collect dust for the rest of his life. Maybe he’ll take the box down once in a while and be tempted to open it but never muster up the courage to rip open the layer of sticky tape to peer inside. 

Or maybe he’ll leave the lid open so that the memories can freely escape and bloom and turn his mind into a garden with foliage of all kinds and flowers of pretty petals. He could label it something like _“Once upon a time…”_

He hears the arrangement of music notes kiss the air then like the soft whisper of a summer's breeze, and his heavy sigh mixes with the classicism to create a symphony that doesn’t seem to fit. 

He guesses his apatheticity doesn’t quite seem to join fluidly within Harry’s world of smiles, poeticism and musical notes. He’s just a little jagged around the edges, and a little fucked up in the head (of course he is when he spends every day fighting with himself) and he’s not sure he’ll ever slot next to this boy that seems to be perfect in a very non perfect world. 

He dresses robotically then in a pair of black skinny jeans and a white button up, and just because he wants to look a little more classy he slips his feet into a pair of Oxfords that shine ostentatiously with a polished glimmer. The sound of the hair dryer drowns out the pleasant melody of the baby grand piano and Louis fluffs his hair this way and that into a somewhat acceptable style as his blue eyes study his reflection in the mirror. 

He supposes he looks nice with his soft hair, tanned skin and unblemished face but he feels like he doesn’t look like much in comparison to Harry. He’d stepped out of the room all beguiling in a light blue shirt and blazer, looking like someone who was about to attend a music award show or some ceremonious celebrity event. 

Maybe Louis should have gone with a more interesting outfit, but he decides not to dwell on it too much as he flicks the hairdryer off and stands up to survey his reflection once more. He swears he’s twenty, but sometimes he looks like he could pass for a sixteen year old with his lack of facial hair and an ever youthful glow to his cheeks. 

He looks quickly away from the mirror then and decides to check his phone before leaving the bedroom. He’s found himself staring at it so often and worriedly jumping every time he hears it buzz with a notification. He fears that Christina will come along and pop this bubble he’s found himself in with one of her longing texts or flirtatious phone calls. So far she has managed to refrain from any barraging behaviour, but the memory of the note she’d left on his doorstep lives in the unkempt backyard of his mind and waits there like a levitating spirit that is ready to haunt him every chance it gets.

He knows they are not technically together anymore, but he’s afraid his own weakness will let him down and he’ll go running back to her whenever the opportunity arises. That murky thought lives in the very dark parts of him too, because he doesn’t want to think of the damage he’s caused himself this week by being with Harry and thinking all these things about him. He knows that once he’s home he’ll want to use Tina as a safety net to catch all of his conflicting emotions in, yet he’s trying to convince himself that he won’t. It’s not fair to her for starters, and it isn’t fair to that small boy that’s trapped somewhere deep inside Louis like an imprisoned memory. 

He throws his phone down on the bed then, deciding not to have anything else to do with it tonight and he then stalks out of the bedroom and into the ether that is swathed with Beethoven’s twentieth piano sonata. 

The building intensity of the music stops as soon as Louis walks out of the room, Harry’s ringed hands hovering over the piano keys as he pauses and those green eyes of his that sit in his face like coveted emeralds twinkle as they land on him. 

Yeah, Louis’ definitely not sure if what happened earlier had been imagined after all. It’s hard to form a conclusion when Harry looks at him like _that-_ so fondly and appreciatively. He grins now, a deep dimple folding into his face as he quirks his voluptuous lips, and even though the sky is darkening outside Louis can almost see the promise of morning in the moon's light. 

The sun seems to peak through the thick veil of nightfall when Louis smiles a smile so bright it almost lights up the room. He knows it’s one of _those_ smiles because he can feel his cheeks inflate with prompt cheeriness and his eyes crinkle with undeniable fondness. Louis only ever smiles like that very rarely and the sight of Harry just causes a feeling of pure delight to radiate through him. 

His head once again starts to play a game of tug and war with itself. He had been in the shower not ten minutes ago having a very pitiful existential crisis about repressed desires, and now here he is smiling like a _goddamn teenager_ at the very cause of all these mixed signals that are flashing through his head like a set of broken traffic lights. 

“You look great” Harry compliments, his fingers resuming their playing rather lightly but his eyes don’t leave Louis’. The comment shoots through him like a vial of heroin and he almost wobbles on his legs under the sheer weight of it. It’s not like he’s never heard a compliment before because most people get them even if they’re not that heartfelt, right? He’s heard them from Liam often enough just before a big night out- both of them would try to boost the others ego and say things like _“You look wicked, mate!” “Oh lad, you look well good tonight. Sick shirt!”_

But Harry’s three words must mean something different because Liam has never made Louis blush with a compliment before, and here right now Louis is starting to feel like a warmed up strawberry. _Fuck_ his fragile mind right to the fiery plains of the Underworld. There it can rest for eternity in the murky depths of the Lethe (Louis ponders the thought of letting his mind succumb to the river of forgetfulness and thinks it a swell plan. Oh, if only Hades could snatch him up right now then all of this would never bother him again).

“You look good too, mate” is what Louis offers after a stiff cough, and Harry’s eyes dim to a dark clover and don’t shine with the electric vividness that always seems to be alight in the expanse of his irises. 

“Thanks” Harry mumbles as he finally takes his eyes off of Louis to allow them to fall once again to the polished keys of the piano. It’s a lovely little instrument, tucked in the corner beside an intricate glass lamp on a small little table and Harry looks just like the picture of pure tranquility as he lets his practiced fingers play across the keyboard. 

He really does look good though (Louis can appreciate the sight of another person platonically, right? Nothing else has to be attached to the sentiment because one can not deny that Harry Styles is good looking. Simplest of the simplest facts, really). 

His long legs that are tucked under the piano bench are clad in his usual tight black skinny jeans and his shirt is the cerulean sky on a summer's day, or the same shade as the restful sea or it could even be the same colour as Louis’ eyes, and that usual patch of skin beneath his neck is showing. 

Louis can almost feel the watchful eyes of the perched swallows gaze at him from where they rest on Harry’s chest. 

His own wandering eyes are ripped away from Harry then when the door of their bedroom suite is opened with a dramatic flourish, and from around the doorway steps a very exasperated Gemma Styles. She saunters forward in a dress of black velvet, the thick neckline swooping to cut across her shoulders, and it tapers over her hips and cinches in at the waist. She’s very pretty with big curls and dewy makeup, and her kitten heels click against the wooden floor as she makes her way to the soft white and gold couch. 

Gemma looks like the kind of person that should not exist within this world of modernism, but should be immortalised in grainy polaroids and flickering film reels and should only ever be shown in black and white. She certainly looks like one of those sirens from the big screens during the fifties, and her musically gifted brother belongs in the same century as Wilde and the Romanticism era of cultural musicality. 

Louis belongs to a space that’s neither here nor there- he’s just floating between places until he can find an anchor to ground him. 

“Well, don’t you look like the picture of happiness” Louis laughs at Gemma as she ever so phlegmatically sprawls against the embroidered fabric. Her dark lidded eyes study him with a glare hidden in them like the beginnings of a thunderstorm (he’s seen that look in Lottie’s eyes millions of times before) and then she rolls them ever so dramatically. 

“Who ever said that maid of honour duty was fun, was definitely lying” she groans, and in the corner Harry laughs over the softness of his musical notes “I can only listen to her natter on about napkin folding, and seating arrangements and main courses so much. I think I might be going slightly mad, Louis” 

“You’ve only come to that conclusion now, eh?” Louis raises an eyebrow as he sits on the couch beside her “I haven’t known you very long, but you seem a bit bonkers, Gemma. In the best way one could be mad, that is” 

“As someone who’s known her all his life, I can affirm that she is indeed slightly mental. _Not_ in the good way” Harry smirks from his seat at the piano and Gemma only frowns very deeply but with no real hurt on her face. Louis wonders if she’s even capable of feeling anything akin to real irritation since she’s constantly living in a world of easy sarcasm inside a very blasé bubble. 

“It’s just very tiring, and we’re still a few days away from the actual wedding! How will I survive? I’ve just come from her room and she was having a breakdown because apparently she ordered the wrong champagne for tonight, as if that’s going to matter to anyone” Gemma whines and Louis wants to scoff and say something about rich people problems but he refrains. Oh, but to live within a world of preoccupied wealth! 

“Oh Gemma, leave Poppy alone. It’s her wedding, she wants everything to be perfect, can you blame her? If it was me I’d probably be freaking out over every little thing too” Harry scolds his sister with a shake of his head, his hands stopping their playing and resting on his knees. 

“I feel sorry for you Louis if you end up marrying this one” Gemma says as she jabs a finger in Harry’s direction “he’ll be an even bigger bridezilla than our darling cousin” 

“Alright, let’s head down shall we?” Harry fumbles awkwardly as he stands on long uneasy limbs with a rapidly growing blush on his face, and as Louis watches him he can’t help the feeling of giddiness that wraps around him like a blanket at the sheer endearment of him. He really does look very nice when he blushes. 

Gemma peels herself gracefully from the couch then, rolling her eyes that look like steaming mugs of coffee, and clicking in her heels towards the door. But some roll of apprehension seems to tighten her shoulders, and she pauses as she clutches a hand of polished red nails around the white frame of the door. Her eyes then flick towards Harry who has come to stand beside Louis- all tall and brooding like the shadow of a tree in winter -and a look of utter pity crosses her face then. 

“I heard that Theo is coming tonight” she says then, her words weighted with sisterly concern and Louis can almost hear Harry’s intake of breath- like the cracking of a hanging icicle that crashes to the ground. 

“Gemma, I know what you’re trying to get at. I’ll be fine, yeah? We knew he was invited so it’s not a surprise or anything” Harry assures her with a shrug that seems to be an attempt to shift the niggling trepidation from his shoulders. Louis can see that his features have gotten tight, and his rosy skin is paling ever so slightly. Of course Harry knew his ex was coming to this wedding fiasco, but Louis guesses the reality of this whole situation is now slowly starting to rush towards him like a hard slap to the face. 

“I thought the little weasel would be at the wedding and that would be it. I didn’t think he’d be brought here for the week! Are you really going to be okay though? It’s not easy seeing someone who broke your heart, Harry” Gemma frowns, a deep line appearing between her eyebrows and Louis doesn’t miss how she flicks her eyes to him. 

She probably thinks this whole thing is slightly uncomfortable for Harry’s current “ _boyfriend_ ” since they’re discussing his past relationship, but in truth, Louis only feels slightly agitated about the whole thing. He’s not looking forward to having to actually see this horrid rich kid in real life and knowing that he’s the reason Harry has been so hurt. 

“Gems, don’t worry. I’m fine” Harry assures her, his lips twitching into a little smirk now as the initial shock of hearing his ex will be in close proximity to him tonight begins to wear off. That little git, Louis thinks to himself, he’s probably smiling so devishilly because he can’t wait to see how Theo will react to Louis. 

“Of course he’s fine. Has me doesn’t he?” Louis says with a smirk of his own pulling at his lips. Harry’s green eyes fall on Louis then, and in the dark jade there is a glimmer of appreciation. 

“Oh, I’m sure he’s more than fine with you, darling!” Gemma winks slyly then, her usual mirthful countenance shadowing over her previous concern and with one last look over a velvet clad shoulder, she stalks on the landing towards the grand staircase and descends it like a countess. 

There’s a soft murmur of mingling voices that buzz incessantly up the stairs like a swarm of bees, and it mixes in with the fluidity of some sort of jazz music that’s playing from somewhere within the grand house. Louis can hear the clinking of glasses and the pleasant shriek of far away laughter, and he assumes that more guests have arrived during the time he and Harry had hidden away in their room.

Harry walks before him now like a lithe puppet, all long limbs dangling gracefully and before he can step onto the stairs Louis grabs his large hand. His skin is warm like always, and so very soft against Louis’ harder palm and those rings sing against his fingers like cool blocks of ice that cause a severe shiver to run up his arm. He doesn’t even fight with himself first before he touches him, he just does it out of pure instinct and the necessity to make sure Harry is okay. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Louis almost whispers to him, staring into his vivid eyes that seem to jump all over the plains and curves of Louis’ face. There’s something that flickers in Harry’s expression that can only be described as _soft-_ like how one might express their adoration when looking at something or someone they’re fond of. Louis feels a hard lump that’s difficult to swallow clog his throat. 

“Yeah, don’t be worrying about me” Harry nods a head of long curls, and Louis feels like his lungs might implode inside of him when his breath hitches abruptly at the feel of Harry’s thumb tracing over the mound of his hand “look I know I haven’t seen him in a while, but like you said, I have you. And I’m alright with that”

“Okay, good” Louis manages to say then through the tightness in his chest, and when he regains himself with an expert hurriedness he sniffs indifferently and shrugs ever so casually “just making sure you weren’t going to cry like a drama queen at the sight of him or something. I wouldn’t know how to handle that” 

Harry laughs then with twinkling eyes and a perfect dimple, and Louis can’t help but smile at him- he’s thankful at least that Harry isn’t too nervous or desperately sad, and if he’s giving Harry a feeling of security or confidence right now well then he’s okay with that. 

He slips his hand into Harry’s then even more, his fingers wrapping around his, and when he shoots him a surprised expression Louis only shrugs. 

“You can hold onto me, if you want. If it makes you feel better” Louis offers kindly, but he knows that he’s doing it for himself too. He likes holding Harry’s hand, likes touching him somehow and despite the negative thoughts that barrage against his head like darts being flung at a board he continues to hold him because right now he feels okay with that. Maybe in a minute or in an hour he’ll feel uncomfortable and give in to his awful mind, but right now he’ll enjoy it. 

Harry smiles at him widely with all the beauty of a falling star and his next words threaten to make Louis' heart seize in his chest “I’m very clingy sometimes. I might not let you go, Louis” 

_Then don’t,_ Louis would tell him if he had the courage, _hold my hand until the sun runs out of light and the moon stops glowing._

But he doesn’t say anything, just pulls Harry along with his hand wrapped in his, and together they descend the staircase. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoped that was alright? Next chapter *drum roll* Louis meets Harry's ex Theo....


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy!

_**And I fell for you,** _

_**like raindrops** _

_**\- Pavana Reddy** _

Louis really does not understand why Poppy had been so wound up over her champagne selection, because the bubbly that he’s been drinking for the past hour is settling in his veins quite nicely and making him just slightly tipsy. It rises in gold fizzing bubbles in his glass and shines jauntily with an eye catching glimmer, and it’s just so damn _easy_ to drink that he’s sure he’s knocked back about ten already. 

The whole back garden (could one even call this massive greenery a back garden?) is dotted with stiff figures of utter elegance. There’s a pleasant murmur of laughter and conversation that rises like the champagne bubbles in his glass and floats all the way towards the sky to kiss the moon, and the jazz band that plays under a makeshift gazebo sounds like the tinkling of the stars. It’s all very pretty, set up with ivory clothed tables that host an array of refined foods and drinks and there’s glowing lanterns posted high on white poles every metre or so around the perimeter of the lawn. 

Louis has met with so many of Harry’s extended family this evening- throwing pleasant smiles after Harry introduces him and engaging in friendly, albeit short, conversation. Harry had just tugged him along after a minute or so of exchanged pleasantries, shooting a quirked up smile over his shoulder- _“Didn’t think you’d want to talk to my great Aunt Judy for too long”._ Louis is beyond grateful for Harry’s telepathetic ability to sense when he is uncomfortable, and standing around talking to rather affluent people all night is not something he really wants to engage in. 

Harry himself has been slightly uneasy though, and Louis can feel his disquietude roll off his body as he stands close to him- his green eyes intent on whoever’s speaking but his body betrays him with how it remains stiff and a little tense. Louis doesn’t miss how his eyes jump towards the large French doors that lead out to the garden every few seconds, and Louis knows exactly who he’s looking for. 

The party has been in full swing for a little over an hour, and so far the presence of this formidable ex boyfriend has not graced their eyesight. 

Louis is however a little apprehensive about the whole thing- this image of Harry’s past lover has lived in his mind like a purposely constructed villain and has only ever existed in a shadowy context with little to no information. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to meet him in person and come face to face with someone who Harry was in love with. It’s all a little strange. 

Somehow the whole boyfriend act had felt very real while holding onto Harry’s hand and meandering through throngs of Styles and close family friends, and Louis’ brain has almost been able to slip into a dissociative state where he can believe that it _is_ real. Of course it had felt real when Harry had introduced him with twinkling eyes, a large dimpled smile and a softly spoken _“This is Louis”_. Each time he’d said it with such genuine adoration and Louis’ heart had increased in size -now it sits in his chest like a massive balloon that’s ready to pop any minute. 

It might just burst inside of him if Harry doesn’t stop looking at him like how he’s staring at him right now. 

They had congregated under the house's looming shadow with James and Harry’s dad after all the genial introductions were done, and the whole time that they’d been talking Louis could feel Harry’s eyes resting on his face. 

He’s doing it right now, those wondrous bulbs of emerald seem to pierce holes into Louis’ very quiet soul and demand it to surface from the depths of repression. Louis can feel it tingle inside of him and beg for its release- and he doesn’t snuff it out as quickly as he might have a week ago. 

Instead he allows his own cerulean eyes to lock onto Harry’s while James’ voice drifts into his ears and when he does those effortlessly perfect lips quirk into a smile. Louis can feel himself blush like a school boy, but he returns the gesture with just as much lustre as it is given, and after a moment of gazing almost longingly, he then lets his eyes focus back on the older man's face. 

Despite being a renowned writer and possibly one of the greatest 21st Century authors to date (well in Louis’ opinion anyway), Louis has found that James is just an all round good guy. He’s polite and charismatic, a gentlemanly scholar with a love for telling jokes and inputting witty comments into conversation and is just an utter joy to be around. Louis still can’t get over the fact that the man who wrote the same book (an actual fucking published bestseller!) that is tucked neatly on Louis’ small bookshelf at his flat, is now standing drinking champagne with him and having a conversation about the depth of his writing process. Mad to comprehend, that is! 

“You should really give writing a try, Louis!” James says passionately when he’s finished describing how he outlines a story “it’s a lot easier than you think! You just have to have a strong idea and then work out all the little details as you go!” 

“I don’t know about that” Louis laughs after swigging down a mouthful of delicious champagne (truth be told he’s never really considered writing anything himself. He’s much too in love with other people’s words to form his own) “I think I’ll stick to reading books, and teaching about them of course!” 

“Ah yes, Harry did mention you’re studying English, right? So you want to be a teacher?” Edward interjects then, his eyes pulling away from his son to land on Louis’. Harry looks on with a delicate smile on his handsome face and a glimmer of something that looks suspiciously like fondness welling in the forest of his eyes. 

He’s drunk just as much as Louis has, and while the alcohol has allowed Louis to feel the pleasant buzz of tipsiness he can see that it’s slowly taking over Harry and making him a victim to the idea of adoration. He really does become quite the sap when he drinks- but the way he’s looking at Louis like he’s the sun in the sky seems totally worth it. 

Louis feels his heart swell even more. Is that even possible? How can one contain such a thing inside them? It surely isn’t healthy to have a heart that is intent on imploding inside its home, and Louis can tell that his ever traitorous muscle wants to vacate the premises of his body and sing and soar like a jovial shooting star that cuts across the darkest sky. 

He won’t allow it to however, so he looks away from Harry’s jade stare once again and focuses on Edward. 

“That’s the dream sir, yes. Well to be honest the dream was to play soccer for England one day, but I’ll stick to teaching for now. Seems a bit more sensible” Louis smiles into his now empty glass “I just love books and poetry, I love words really, and I’d love to be able to share that passion with people while teaching them” 

“He’s brilliant, Dad. He probably knows every book there is! He can quote poetry too” Harry compliments fondly, and Louis can’t help the rush that jolts through him at the way Harry admires Louis’ passion like that. He isn’t sure if he can remember the last time someone took such an interest in him. It’s heartwarming, really. 

“Oh hush, I just like reading, is all” Louis shakes his head, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Harry's face. 

He can feel a dull scratch inside of him- like there is something with claws that is digging against the protective layer of his soul in hopes that it can snatch it from him to corrupt -but he ignores it and tries not to think about it. 

All he wants to do is look at this boy who’s glowing like a celestial star under the silvery glow of the moon and somehow that nefarious beast that looms inside of him decides to allow it. He’ll take the small doses of freedom when he can get them. Right now he feels like he might overdose on liberation if he’s not careful. 

“Don’t be modest, Louis. You’ll be a great teacher some day” Harry tells him then with a nod of his head, and Louis smiles one of those eye crinkling smiles that has his whole face lit up. He can feel Edward and James watch on, their studious eyes piercing through the veil of this somewhat private moment like patrons at an opera. 

“I’m going to go get another drink. Would anyone like anything?” Louis asks then, deciding that perhaps a little walk and more alcohol will be the perfect antidotes to soothe his mind. 

Louis really has allowed himself to slip up these past few days, and especially today. 

Louis has held Harry’s hand so many times that he almost feels lost without his fingers tangled around his. He also can’t shake the feeling that it somehow intrinsically belongs wrapped around Louis’ own hand - just like how he feels that perhaps they’re puzzle pieces that go together even though Louis tries hard to bend his edges so that he won’t click with Harry at all. 

He also can’t help but notice that they’ve stared at one another like two loved up teenagers for most of the evening. 

Louis doesn’t know if he’s been making it all up or if Harry really is starting to develop a crush on him. Maybe he has a crush on Harry too...but fuck, he can’t possily! He is however beginning to shrivel under the weight of Harry’s beguiling and coquettish charm, yet when he tries to grapple with himself and build back up his walls they just crumple down around him again and again. They’re caving inside of him like the toppling of an ancient temple because of Harry, and he knows it. There’s no fucking denying it. He wobbles a little on his feet then when his knees threaten to give out. 

Right Louis, champagne. Or whiskey. Yeah, something stronger sounds good. 

He gets a round of polite declines then, and he whips around rather swiftly to stumble towards the garden. He has to delicately elbow his way past a gossiping group of middle aged women, all dressed in shades of ivory or blush pink and all with the same wrinkled pout on their faces, and he delights when he emerges from the gaggle to come to the drinks table. 

It’s ever so organised into sections for each type of alcohol -not like Uni parties where every drink is violently neon and spilled everywhere -and Louis can’t help but marvel at the choices, and sure enough, there isn’t a red plastic cup in sight- just shining glasses of all shapes and sizes. 

Where are the tankards? He could sure do with one of those right about now. But he is supposed to be upholding some sort of regal decorum, right? Especially since he’s Harry’s _boyfriend_ and is surrounded by people of proper etiquette. He isn’t even sure anyone here is actually drunk or even close to being inebriated- they’re all just standing around with champagne flutes in their hands and nodding agreeably during conversation. Even the jazz band, as talented as they are, are doing nothing to rouse excitement within him. 

He’s suddenly in the mood for a raucous party or a bustling pub, but he sighs to himself when reality reminds him that he is actually in posh territory. 

He’s just about to pick up a bottle of Prosecco when suddenly his peripheral vision is swarmed with a dark shadow, and suddenly a gin glass is tossed in front of his face. He lets his eyes trail from the table to the man who is now standing before him with a rather blank expression etched onto a stony visage. If he wasn’t blinking with life Louis might have thought he was a statue. He certainly looks severe enough to be one. 

“Can I help you?” Louis asks rather haughtily, his eyes flicking to the glass that is being held up by a ringed hand. The boy just looks at him through a pair of hazel eyes, the brown and green dancing passionately in his irises and swarming his face with character. He is quite good looking, and his face seems oddly familiar somehow but Louis can’t seem to concentrate on where he’s seen this person before since he has his empty gin glass shoved right under his nose. 

“Yes, you can actually” the familiar faced stranger replies in a drawl that is oozing superiority “I’d like a Hendricks with tonic water” 

“Um, good for you, pal. I’d like some wine, now excuse me” Louis tries to get around the taller bloke but the lad isn’t having it- shooting an arm out and tilting his chin ever so haughtily. He looks like the kind of person who replaces simple manners and etiquette with his self righteousness and wealth. He’s dressed finely in a tailored suit, and a large gold watch glints wickedly around his wrist and so does a signet ring on his finger that has some sort of family crest on it that looks oddly familiar too. 

“Are you _deaf_? Did you hear what I just said?” he asks rather viciously, and at the sound of his tone Louis stands up a little straighter and plants his feet firmly on the ground. 

“Last time I checked I wasn’t deaf, or had any hearing problems for that matter. I heard you perfectly the first time, pal. But from looking at you, you seem like a capable adult who can pour his own drinks. Don’t know why you’re asking me” Louis quips with a tilt of his head, allowing his eyes to drag down the tall frame of this stranger in a way that is meant to make him feel embarrassed. But all it does is infuriate this bastard even more, and his shoulders square tensely and his eyes flare wildly. 

“What kind of a service is this? Are you just stupid, is that it?” the stranger snaps back and Louis has to almost fight the urge to scoff. Who the hell does this posh princess think he is? But his words are utterly confusing so any indignation Louis has been feeling is slowly taking a step back and allowing room for absolute bewilderment. 

Louis looks around the garden then, and a sudden rush of realisation floods him when he spies one of the hired waiting staff swanning around with a tray of brandy glasses. He’s wearing black slacks and a white shirt- so are all of the waiting staff. So is Louis. Fucking perfect. 

“You think I’m a waiter?” Louis asks with a raise of a brow, his eyes staring up into the face of this very dour stranger. A pair of teak, woodsy eyes glare back at him and his oval lips upturn in a snarl that could curdle milk, but Louis squares his shoulders defensively and stands up a little straighter. 

“Obviously” he sneers bitingly, a flash of dim amber glinting behind his expressive eyes “you look like one. You certainly aren’t from around here, anyway. You clearly weren’t raised with any manners” 

Louis has always been just a little tough, biting people’s words and spitting them back out with sass. Growing up in a council estate in Doncaster would do that to a person, and despite his own inner conflict with himself he’s never had a problem with assertiveness (he works in service for goodness sake, he can handle rude people). But here right now, under the leering glare of this pompous boy, he feels like utter _shit_. 

Before he can open his mouth with a snappy retort however, a shout of his name distracts him. “Louis! There you are, I was wondering where you got to” 

It’s Harry, and he now gracefully ambles his way towards the drinks table with a very forced smile on his face and emerald eyes that twinkle dangerously out of a well made face. He had obviously spied Louis’ interaction with this boy and decided to come to the rescue. It suddenly clicks in Louis’ head then as Harry almost sets his face into a countenance of pure and utter discontentment. 

This is Theo. _The_ Theo who had been with Harry last summer, and the memory of that photograph Harry had drunkenly showed him that night at the hotel party comes swimming back to his mind like the rush of thunderous waves at sea. Some sort of triumphant glee rushes through his body like crack when he notices how Theo’s face drops and pales ever so slightly at the sight of Harry. He stops beside them now and Louis can not help the devious smile that etches onto his face then. Good, let the smarmy prick get a taste of his own medicine. This is what this whole thing is about- to make him feel jealous -and Louis plans on doing his very best to make sure that happens. 

“Harry, darling!” Louis fawns ever so dramatically, an arm snaking around Harry’s waist when he comes to stand beside him. His green eyes are aflame with a brilliant viridescent glow as they set themselves on his ex boyfriend, but he stiffens at the feel of Louis’ body pressed to his. He relaxes after a few tense seconds when Louis just wraps his arm around him tighter. He also tries to ignore how his heart is soaring in his chest and playing along to the upbeat jazz music that swirls around them. 

“I see you’ve met Theo already” Harry’s voice is tight as he stares at the other boy, and his hazel eyes are flickering over the non existent space between Louis and Harry’s bodies like a pair of tennis balls being bat back and forth. 

If realisation could be expressed simply in one picture, then it would be this candid snapshot of Theo’s face, because he suddenly reels where he stands and his entire expression betrays his emotions. He’s clearly irritated, the wicked glint in his eyes and the curl of his lip gives it away, but he’s also a little perturbed because his hands fidget noiselessly around the stem of his glass. 

“Ah, I thought I recognised you!” Louis cocks his head with feigned recognition “Harry showed me a picture of you way back when, but I guess you weren’t too memorable” 

His gold ring glints under the twinkling lights as he picks up a hand to run through his hair. The family crest that is engraved into the metal is now strikingly obvious to Louis since he recognises it as the De Luca sigil. It’s only emblazoned onto every single bottle of their wine that they distribute- Louis has only served about three hundred bottles of the bloody stuff since he started working at Wellington. 

The whole family have more money than any man should have in a lifetime, their fortune stretching back decades and Louis guesses that the notion of undeniable wealth is why this young man seems to have an air of superiority about him. Louis remembers what Niall had said about him only hanging around other rich people and being a complete snob. Whatever possessed such a gentle and kind soul like Harry to be in love with a guy like this? 

Sure he’s good looking with smooth tanned skin and a flourish of dark auburn hair that seems to contest with his Italian heritage, but one could not be that shallow. Certainly not Harry. A nice face is no consolation for a horrid personality, yet Louis wonders if this stoney-faced heir ever had one to begin with. Perhaps when he was younger he could have been a little more lenient to the notion of friendliness. 

“Clearly you weren’t either” Theo drawls with a nasty twitch of his upper lip “I do think I saw one of you before, but then again I don’t store useless information in my head” 

Harry makes a sound deep in his chest that seems like it’s coming from the very depths of him, but Louis’ fingers gently dig into his waist to reassure him that whatever this opulent boy says is of no consequence. Louis really could not care for his words.

“Well I can refresh your memory if you want. Louis Tomlinson, Harry’s boyfriend” Louis says with an outstretched hand and the tightest smile on his face. He feels a sudden rush go through him and straight to the middle of his heart as he says those words, and it makes him as giddy and as lightheaded as the champagne he had drunk tonight. 

_Harry’s boyfriend_. It’s the first time he’s actually said it out loud (and yeah alright it isn’t real or whatever. Louis knows this) but this snarky, spoiled boy before him doesn’t know that and it feels damn good to see the light in his hazel eyes dim just a little. His arm tightens around Harry's waist even more (he feels like he might crush him if he’s not careful) since he just can’t help himself. He’s touching him so intimately while parading as his lover and miraculously the little demon that purges itself in the mountain of his brain is allowing him to without digging its claws into his flesh. 

Perhaps he and his monsters can be one for now and all decide to despise the same thing. A rare act of camaraderie between him and the very dark parts of himself. Who would have thought? 

“Pleasure” Theo says rather lazily as he clasps Louis’ hand in his own and shakes it. Louis may or may not grip onto him tighter than he should “I’d like to introduce you to Chelsea, Harry” 

It’s said with the intent to hurt Harry- Louis can hear the malevolent snipe in his tone and can see the hopefulness of Harry’s impending heartache in the flash of his deep set eyes. Perhaps Theo feels now that they’re playing a game- showing off their current flames to one another in the hopes of battling against one anothers jealousy -because as he waves over a pretty brunette his eyes remain on Harry’s face to see his reaction. 

If Harry’s feeling any sort of deep dissatisfaction he doesn’t show it on his face and just remains as pleasant as ever. He even throws the pretty girl a smile as she bounds up to them in a flurry of blue satin and long curls. Her smooth skin glows like caramel underneath the shimmer of the moon and the lights that hang around them, and her eyes dance like polished flints of amber surrounded by frames of dark lashes. 

She winningly smiles as she throws both arms around Theo’s waist, and the way she beams at him is like love personified. Louis feels a slight twinge in his heart that feels a little like guilt. She seems friendly since she now turns her smiling face towards Louis and Harry, and eyes them very welcomingly. Clearly she’s nothing like her boyfriend. 

“I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine. This is Harry Styles, Poppy’s cousin” Theo waves a hand towards Harry rather lazily, but that wickedly watchful glare is still in his eyes. He completely disregards Louis and doesn’t even bother to explain his presence. 

“An old friend? Oh don’t be so humble, Theo. We were practically joined at the hip once” Harry extends a hand with a smile at the girl, but there’s a curve to his mouth that shows his glee at being able to make Theo balk where he stands. The hidden innuendo in his words swirl around the air like an undulated mist of cognizance that only three members of this congregating group can understand. Louis clamps his lips together ever so tightly to try and hide his mirthful grin, but Chelsea doesn’t seem to comprehend and just takes Harry’s hand with a smile. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Harry. I’ve heard Poppy talk about you before, she and I have known each other for years” Chelsea explains as she withdraws her hand and lets it fall once again to hang around her boyfriend's waist. It’s almost sad how she’s standing before an ex lover of her current boyfriend and has no idea. 

“Lovely to meet you too, Chelsea. May I introduce you to Louis?” Harry swivels a little in Louis’ hold and when Louis’ arm falls from around him Harry doesn’t waste a minute before linking his own through it. A large hand grips the crook of Louis’ elbow then too, and he feels like he may just turn to a pile of mush right here in front of this spurious ex boyfriend. 

“Louis, how nice to meet you” Chelsea beams prettily, and Louis just gives her a smile back and a rather feeble wave. He’s not interested in much pleasantry when Harry is gripping him so closely and with such a possessive flicker in the green of his eyes. “So how do you all know one another?” Chelsea adds with a curious countenance shadowing her lovely face. 

“We go way back, don’t we Theo?” Harry replies with a soft iciness trickling its way into his tone. Louis can see how he’s clearly intent on making this as uncomfortable for Theo as he possibly can, and perhaps it's his way of reaching inside himself and gathering up the broken pieces of his heart to throw at him. Maybe he wants to see him squirm with the memory of their hidden relationship or perhaps catch a glimmer of regret in his eyes. Maybe Harry wishes that Theo will want him back and drop everything for him and declare to the moon how much he aches inside with love, purely from the sight of seeing him in a _relationship_ with Louis. 

The thought of Harry wanting to win back this arrogant and frightfully self righteous boy is quite unsettling to him. 

“We went to Eton together” Theo clips haughtily "we haven't seen one another in a while" 

"Oh did you go to Eton too, Louis?” Chelsea asks him politely and Louis almost wants to scoff. Just the thought of him attending such an affluent establishment is laughable (yeah sure, his university is one of the best, but Eton College reigns higher on the aristocratic level of fortunate education) 

“No, I didn’t. Harry and I go to the same university though” Louis explains and Chelsea coos fondly, leaning her petite body against Theo’s tall frame even more. Her chocolate eyes drift lazily between the two boys with a fond wistfulness swimming in the inky expanse of them that causes Louis to shift a little on his feet. 

“Is that where you two met? I do love a good love story” she sighs dreamily with a winsome smile and Louis is sure he sees Theo stiffen to a likeness of a marble statue- all taut limbs and pressed together lips. Even his eyes go blank and unseeing. The thundering jealousy that radiates from his every pore is still tangible despite his stoniness, and Louis has to fight a smirk. 

“Oh yes, I just saw him and knew he was the one. Love at first sight and all that” Louis tells her, adding a giggle at the end for good measure and she buys it like a treat since her face lights up with a beam. Most girls do love a good backstory on romance, and clearly she’s no different. 

“That’s beautiful, isn’t it Theo?” Chelsea asks her boyfriend, and his entire face seems to melt back into one that looks slightly more life-like, and then his mouth purses and clicks from side to side- Louis thinks he looks like someone who is trying to tie a cherry stem with their tongue, face all screwed up and concentrated. It’s quite comical to watch this man squirm from the inside out and try to hide his discontent with a very purposive detachment. 

But underneath Louis’ glee at this whole thing actually making Harry's ex jealous (that is the point of this thing, right?) is a very real sense of understanding. He guesses that Theo’s reluctance to shine light on his relationship with Harry is one hundred percent valid when he looks into his own soul. Yeah, maybe Theo never deserved Harry in the first place with his rebuked nature and pompous leer, but this boy probably has as many layers to him as Louis has. 

He can understand his reticent behaviour because it is almost exactly like Louis’. Suddenly he feels very horrid on the inside. 

“Just lovely” Theo says with a leaden tone in his voice, and then those eyes that look like sinkholes turn to Louis’ face to survey him cruelly. He feels like an insect that’s about to get stood on by a boot, and all previous discernment he had felt towards him vanishes like a puff of smoke under his wicked glare. 

“Where are you from, Louis?” Chelsea questions him then with a friendly smile- but her eyes flicker towards Theo very curiously as if she’s trying to work out why her boyfriend is staring at Louis like he wants to murder him just with a look. 

“Yorkshire, I’d wager. With an accent like _that_ ” Theo scoffs cruelly, and Harry seems to lurch forward just slightly at his words. But Louis grips onto him with a fierce hold around his arm and his large body seems to calm its hurried anger quite quickly. 

“Wow, aren’t you the intelligent sort? Doncaster to be exact” Louis bites out haughtily. 

“I’ve never been but I’d say it’s lovely” Chelsea beams then -she really is very nice, Louis observes, and she seems way too pleasant to be with such an austere man like the one she’s wrapped around. 

“I drove through it once. Not much to see” Theo is ever so cutting with his tone of voice, and his shapely lips quirk into a well hidden smirk that seems to scream pride over his ability to make Louis feel like shit. 

Before anyone can even get a quip in- Louis’ clever comment had been sitting on his tongue -Chelsea ever so diligently decides to cut the tension yet again with another question meant for Louis. “What is it you do, Louis? Are you involved in business or politics?” 

Well of course she’d think that- lumping Louis together with the rest of the opulent guests and assuming that he is involved in some ceremonious career or is an heir to some fortune or other. Far from it- he lives in a building that always has a broken lift, his flat looks like a shoebox and he’s scraping his way through his education. 

“I’m a waiter, I work at a restaurant” Louis tells her then, and her face momentarily twitches into a look of pure and utter disbelief but it’s quickly shadowed then with a very purposive smile. Clearly she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Theo eyes him then with a furrowed brow- he probably thinks Louis is joking or perhaps digging over their first encounter. But unfortunately, he’s totally serious. 

“So my earlier observation stands correct then” Theo snarls nastily “I mistook you for the help and...clearly you are” 

That’s it- that’s _enough_. Louis stands up straighter then and slips his arm from Harry’s so he can ball his fists tightly by his sides. 

“Yeah and my earlier observation of you being a giant fucking twat stands correct too” Louis whips out- his words cracking in the space between them, and then he grabs Harry around the waist to steer him away “come on Harry” 

But he doesn’t budge- he’s too busy staring at Theo with an intent fury in the green of his eyes. He swivels out of Louis’ hold then and steps up to his ex with squared shoulders and a taut jaw. For a fleeting moment Louis is convinced that Harry might hit him- but he just wraps an arm around his elbow and pulls him closer. He leans into his ear then and angles himself in a way that the innocent presence of Chelsea won’t be corrupted. 

“You ever say anything like that to him again, and you’ll be sorry. I don’t think your father would want to hear about our summer together” Harry says in a whisper, his green eyes flickering over Theo’s shoulder to where a congregating group of men are chattering away. Louis can only assume Theo’s dad is amongst them. Chelsea stands idly by with a look of worry and confusion on her pretty face but she can’t hear anything from where she stands. 

Harry leans away then and doesn’t even care to catch Theo’s expression - but Louis can see how his marble face is starting to crack into tiny lines of mortification, and he feels that at any moment he’s going to split open and fall to the ground in dusty shards. 

Harry storms away from them then with quick strides and Louis has to sprint to try and keep up with him. He thunders all the way to the very edge of the large garden, the grass cutting off abruptly to make way for a golden gravel pathway that meanders into the dark expanse of a large maze. Harry whirls around then, chestnut hair whipping against his face and those eyes of his are marvelously wild and they dance like he has little flames behind his skull. He looks positively murderous, and Louis immediately reaches out his hands to hold the trembling boy steady by the elbows. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Harry” Louis tells him with a sideways glance. 

“Yes, I did. I won’t have anyone talking to you like that, Louis” Harry shakes his head furiously, but as his eyes lock with Louis’ all anger seems to melt away to be replaced with a steady appreciation. Louis lets his hands drop away from him then to hang uselessly by his sides. 

“Do you think he’s jealous then?” Louis asks him. 

“Huh?” Harry furrows his brow, a far away look in his eyes like he’s thinking of something beyond this realm. It’s almost like he’s forgotten the concept of the plan for a split second- his other emotions and his slowly dissipating anger taking a front seat. 

“Theo, do you think he’s jealous? Do you think the plan’s working?” 

“Oh, right...yeah I think so. But to be honest I was focusing more on how he was treating you” Harry tenses his jaw as his eyes flicker over Louis’ head to stare furiously into the distance where Theo no doubt rests like a haunting entity “I’m so sorry, Louis. I really didn’t expect him to be like that” 

“It’s fine, Harry. Honestly I think I’ve dealt with worse” Louis shrugs his shoulders like he’s trying to shirk his irritation with it. Truth be told, he is a little miffed about the whole thing but he doesn’t feel so bad now about his decision to loathe Theo for all eternity “I actually can’t believe you were with him. You shouldn’t be with a lad like that”

“Oh yeah? Who should I be with then?” Harry asks him, voice soft like the gentle breeze that kisses the twirling hedge of roses behind them. His eyes glint wondrously under the pale light of the moon, and they look like warm pools of sage that Louis wants to drown in. Harry must have a magnet tucked beneath his chest of tattooed birds and Louis’ heart must be made of iron because he’s suddenly drawn towards him then like he’s being pulled. 

He only realises how close he’s gotten to him when he can feel Harry’s rapid breath span across his sticky forehead, and their eyes lock onto one another’s like they wish to look at nothing else. Suddenly the collar of his shirt feels very tight and he wishes he could rip it from his throat so he can breathe a little easier. 

He knows what he wants to answer - the dim whisper of something that sounds like the word “ _Me”_ echoes around his head -but he can’t say it. Could he? Does he have enough courage to outwardly confess the very darkest of his thoughts? He guesses he doesn’t when he feels his soul cower down inside of him. 

But the matter is of no consequence, because their moment is interrupted by the dull thump of a microphone that sounds in the near distance. Both of them snap their heads towards the little gazebo that is dotted with fresh flowers to see that a rather ebullient Poppy is standing under it. 

“I just wanted to come up here and say how very grateful James and I are to have our friends and family here this week to celebrate our marriage” she begins, a clacking applause follows her words then and the smile on her red lips gets even bigger “this will surely be a week to never forget! But I’ve also been reminded to congratulate another couple who are also taking the next step. So everyone please join me in a toast to Theo and Chelsea who got engaged last week!” 

The applause is a little louder this time but Harry’s sharp intake of breath is undeniable to the ear, and Louis whips his head around to gauge his reaction. He looks pale and expressionless, but after a moment his bottom lip begins to quiver and a look of pure anguish shadows along the expanse of his handsome face. Fuck, he looks utterly devastated and that iron heart of Louis’ shatters at the sight of him. 

“Harry are you -” 

“Sorry, I need a minute” Harry interrupts numbly, his eyes set on something in the distance and before Louis can even say another word Harry is stalking back towards the house with hunched shoulders and a hanging head. 

“Harry, wait!” Louis calls after him, his shorter legs trying to keep up but Harry disappears into the crowd that now congregates towards the newly engaged couple. Fuck you! -Louis wants to shout into the microphone -Fuck you for breaking Harry’s heart! But he doesn’t say or shout anything- he just tries to elbow his way through the gaggle of people to get to Harry but when he looks again, he’s gone.

* * *

The large house is dark and empty, and Louis’ footsteps sound deafening as he explores the desolate downstairs rooms for Harry. He’s worried about him with a sickening concern that floods his veins and causes his heart to stutter in his chest- he has this all consuming urge to hold him against his body and tell him everything will be okay, but he knows he must refrain from that when he does find him. He hears the loud rumble of piano notes soar through the air like boulders crashing off a mountain, and his feet pick up as he winds down a dark hallway to where the din is coming from. 

The source of the sound sits proudly in the middle of an oak swarmed room with high windows that reach from ceiling to floor, and the moon cuts inside in thick slices of silver light. The ethereal glow shines down on the grand piano that looks like a chunk of obsidian against the murky backdrop of the room, and sitting behind it with one hand tinkling the keys and the other splayed across its surface for his head to rest on, is Harry. He’s slumped over the instrument, and Louis has never heard him play so badly before, but when he squints his eyes as he stands in the doorway he can see that Harry uses a balled up fist to smash against the keys at random. 

Sometimes all those bottled in emotions and torrents of pain can not be articulated into powerfully poignant words or expressed with soul stirring musicality. Sometimes it’s just ugly and brutal and awfully put together. Heartache can not always be romanticized wonderfully- and right now Harry’s very careless playing encapsulates that. 

But somehow this sight before him is rousing within Louis a severe adoration that could pull him under and suffocate him if he allows it. Watching Harry here in all his vulnerability is making him feel wondrously warm, and all the care that he’s suddenly felt for this boy the past couple of days is now swarming his body like the pricking of tiny needles. 

He wants to rush forward and wrap his arms around him- he wants to hold him so tight that any and all of his broken pieces can click back together and mould into something unbreakable. He never wants to see Harry so broken ever again. 

He almost wants to scoff at his own weakness towards such a trivial situation. He sees Harry upset once and he’s ready to throw away all sense and carefulness to be replaced with comfort and an astounding desire to protect. His head is begging him to turn around- to not care at all- but he can’t seem to hear it over the hauntingly awful sounds of the piano. 

But his soul- damn that intricately stitched spirit of his. That is the part of him that always wants _more_. His soul is often silent, forced into quietness by the barraging of his mind. But whenever it does sound from within the very depths of him, it seems to sing in dreams.

He looks on at Harry now from behind the doorway and is reminded of all those times he had sneakily watched him during rehearsals at the old theatre or from behind the thick stage curtain of red velvet. He had always watched him from the corner of his eye or within the secure cover of shadow. 

But right now he steps into the light of the moon and away from the cloak of darkness. 

Harry looks up when he hears Louis’ footsteps click against the polished wood of this somewhat desolate room, and his face smooths over somewhat at the sight of him. The piano is swathed in the milky light that floods in through the huge windows, and it makes his green eyes light up like two far away planets. They look slightly watery around the edges- like there are millions of unshed tears pooling in them. 

“Are you okay?” Louis asks him softly as he takes a seat on the bench beside him. He tries to ignore the lurching nervousness that is hopping around in his stomach over the fact that he’s now sitting so close to an instrument he has refused to play since he was sixteen. 

“I’ll be okay” Harry nods his head when he sits up straighter, his long fingers smoothing out over the ivory keys. It seems like he’s done with his furiously sporadic playing since he settles himself into a more comfortable stance. 

“It’s alright if you’re not” Louis assures him with a soft look and an even more delicate voice “your ex is engaged, that’s hard to take in. You can cry or scream if you want to. You don’t have to pretend with me” 

Harry’s hands absently begin to tinkle out a composition that sounds like Chopin- the sad lilt of the notes echoing in the ether around them. Louis imagines that all Harry’s inner turmoil and heartache is immortalised within the notes, and now they can exist imprinted into the walls of the room and away from his beautiful heart. He shouldn’t have to live with something so painful inside of him. 

“I’m just a little hurt, I suppose. He’s moved on very quickly and I feel like I’m just left behind, you know? Like I was tossed aside and never thought of again” Harry sighs, closing his eyes as he continues to play. Louis looks at him then and he can feel his heart twinge inside of him like it’s just been pierced with a knife at the mere sight of him. 

The moon really was made just for him. It kisses over the chiselled plains of his face and over the curve of his mouth, and his long black lashes casts shadows on his cheeks that fan out in feathery outlines. It seems like the wondrous celestial bulb in the sky wants to light him up like he’s underneath a spotlight so the whole world can behold such a magnificent thing like him. 

“He didn’t deserve you, Harry. He _doesn’t_ deserve you even now. I don’t think anyone ever really could” Louis tells him then over Chopin’s classic, and he might be going crazy but he thinks Harry’s fingers stumble a little over the keys to create a clumsy barrage of notes. But just like the talented maestro he is, he quickly regains himself. 

“Do you mean that?” his eyes open again and they’re a wondrous forest of evergreens and they meet Louis’ of sky blue with a flutter. 

“I mean that” Louis breathes out unsteadily as his heart crashes in his chest. But he really does mean that. This marvelous boy before him with all his poetic spirit and beauty is surely deserving of only the most heavenly kind of love. Louis wonders if there’s anyone in the world that could give it to him. 

Harry’s face twitches into a smile then that Louis can not help but copy, and his heart feels like a flower that’s about to bloom within his chest and his breath stops a little under the dazzling weight of Harry’s beauty. He’s smiling though, and that’s a good thing. Louis feels a little more content now with the thought that he can perhaps fill in the hurtful spaces inside of Harry’s heart for just a moment. 

“Do you know Clair de Lune?” Louis wistfully asks then, unknowingly leaning further against Harry’s arm. 

“Yes, it’s one of my favourites” Harry turns his head to look down at Louis- wonderfully beautiful eyes tracing over the expanse of Louis’ features. 

“Will you play it for me?” he requests gently, his eyes tearing from Harry’s face to rest instead on his large hands that have now stopped their soft playing. 

“Anything for you, Louis” is Harry’s delicate response and the whisper of it sounds like a kiss, and Louis can’t help but shiver where he sits at his words. 

Louis doesn’t say anything else as Harry begins to play but just sits silently beside him in awe. He’s wonderful, he truly is, and Louis knows that there will never be another person like Harry Styles to grace his life. Perhaps that thought should scare him, and it does- it _terrifies_ him. But here inside the confines of this dimly lit room, with nothing but a piano and the moon as witnesses - Louis can be at peace with that. Here now he’ll convince himself that they’re the only two people to exist and this room is their planet that orbits around the stars outside the window. 

The sounds of the piano notes seem to haunt his every thought- and Louis knows, as sure as he knows that the sun will rise in the morning- that there will never be an instrument Harry can play as well, as the way he plays Louis’ heart.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just survived my first week back at work! Go me! Also I'm sorry it's taken so long to get a chapter updated but I've been so busy with paperwork and finishing assignments, but I hope you all enjoy!  
> Much love x

**_Thinking of you is a poison I drink often_ **

**_\- Atticus_ **

The stretch of time that comes after midnight and just before the early blanket of morning are hours that wave goodbye to lucidity and are replaced by a deep rooted sense of delirium; and as Louis wakes up at three a.m he feels like nothing exists in that moment but the grappling darkness and his utterly blank mind. 

He scrambles under the sheets, twisting violently until he’s sitting upright- back hunched and shoulders heaving as he pants out deeply uneven breaths. His forehead is layered with a sticky sheen of sweat and he brings his trembling fingers up to ghost across the clammy skin and tug at the damp roots of his hair. 

For a minute, while sitting atop the bed surrounded by the cloak of inky darkness, he almost forgets where he is and his heart pounds beneath his chest with a trepid sense of unfamiliarity. He’s lost within a world of utter darkness with a mind that is trying to cling to sense and piece together the remnants of his fitful dream, and the only brightness in the room is the tiny sliver of menial light that beams in through the gap in the curtains. 

The moon must be trying to sink beneath the waves of onyx to let the sun come up, since what little of outside he can see is now being turned a few shades lighter than the smothering darkness of nightfall.

But if he stares too long into the black void of the room he can almost imagine that from out of the shadows emerge dark shapes with leathery wings and sharp claws that stalk the canvas of obsidian. His heart that is slowly starting to relax in his chest -calming now for the first time since he’d been jolted awake -threatens to pick up once again with a capricious uneasiness. 

Suddenly there’s a rustle in the bed and Louis whips his head around to stare blankly at the mass that is huddled under the ivory bed covers. All sense of unknowing and delirium now begin to rush out of him like the pulling back of the tide, and somehow like a miracle his heart stutters to an easy rhythm inside its confines- all because the presence of his bed mate puts him at ease. 

_Harry_.

Louis can just barely make out the shape of him- curled up with one tattooed arm propped under his face and his wild tangle of chestnut curls splayed over a freckled back. He can’t _see_ him exactly, he can’t pick out the exact place where his spine dips or where his broad shoulders taper into mounds of smooth tanned flesh but he can picture Harry in his mind’s eye. So tranquil and _beautiful_. 

He bites the inside of his mouth then and looks away like someone just tugged an invisible leash around his neck - he can almost imagine the slithering leer of the nefarious entities that blend in with the darkness, cold and skeletal hands clenched around dirty chains that wrap around him to be tugged whenever they feel like he’s straying. 

Harry had been the reason why he had jolted awake so violently and why his heart had decided to dance inside his chest like a wild animal. 

Yet despite that there is also a calmness that settles bone deep inside him and it shushes the incessant worries with soft gentle waves of reassurance. Odd that, Louis thinks, how one person can rouse so much emotion and confusion within another. Moments ago he had woken in a state of utter fear, and yet the same object that haunts his dreams is managing to banish all trepidation from his veins. 

The sigh he lets out then is leaden and heavy, and he lets his head fall into his hands sleepily as he angles himself as far away from Harry as he can manage in the bed. It’s not the biggest bed he’s ever slept in even though it’s a double- or perhaps his mind is convincing him it’s smaller than it really is just because Harry seems to fill up every empty space between their bodies with his magnetic energy. 

Louis had been able to fall asleep a little easier tonight than he had when he’d stayed in Harry’s room back at his house, but still his body had been taut with uneasiness after getting settled under the covers, and when Harry had sauntered from the bathroom with nothing but a pair of shorts on - his smooth, inked up chest glowing in the swath of moonlight -well then Louis had felt like a rubber band that was about to be snapped. He had shut his eyes rather tightly then and a little painfully, but he was sure Harry hadn’t noticed at all. 

He had uttered a very soft and breathy _“Goodnight, Louis”_ and then all had been quiet save for the loud thumping of Louis’ heartbeat and Harry’s delicate breaths as he’d fallen asleep. Louis had drifted off in a rigid position and with an uncomfortable mindset, and he supposes that’s why his dream had decided to make a reappearance tonight. 

It was the same dream he’s been having of Harry for weeks now- the one where he is running through a haze of smoke and in the back of his mind he knows he’s searching for something, for _someone_ perhaps, but he can’t put his finger on what exactly it is. That is until all the choking vapour disappears and Harry appears to him with that wonderful smile and an outstretched hand like he’d been waiting for him. 

Usually the frantic search goes on for what seems like forever, and Louis always gets the panicked feeling in his chest that time is running out and that he’ll never find who or what he’s looking for. It always feels like he’s losing his chance at life, at _happiness,_ when he can’t see an end to all the smoke and the world becomes an endless horizon of smothering smog, and he feels like he will never get out of the haze and will be forced to live in this utter blankness forever. 

But this time, when he’d dreamt, he’d found Harry much quicker. 

Just like always, the dream version of Louis hadn’t known what would be waiting for him at the end, but then Harry had appeared out of the foggy haziness like how a lighthouse would appear to a wandering ship that is lost within the frenzied waves of sea. Louis had stood still for a moment, just looking at him with surprised eyes, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t really bring himself to be that shocked. It had felt _right_ somehow, like he was always meant to find _Harry_ and nothing and no one else through all the stormy fog and clouds of confusion. 

He could faintly hear the lapping of water, and could feel hard wood under his feet and when he squinted his eyes he could spy the outline of a gazebo against the dusky cobalt of the sky. 

“I was waiting for you, love” Harry had said to him with those smiling plump lips, his long legs stalking forward as he’d made his way over to Louis “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up, that you might not want me anymore. You do want me, don’t you Louis?” 

“Course I do, Harry. I just got a little lost along the way. Found you now, though, didn’t I?” Louis had smiled when Harry’s large hands had cupped his face, and when he leaned in to brush his soft lips against Louis’ all the residual smoke around them had vanished. Louis could see that they were standing on the dock near Harry’s house- the one they had ventured to late one night where they’d spilled truths under the watchful stare of the moon. It had seemed like an end but also a beginning- like they’d come full circle to the place where Louis guesses it had all begun. 

“Yeah, you found me” Harry had whispered, his deep voice rumbling against Louis’ waiting lips, and just when he’d felt the soft pressure of Harry’s pillowing against his own and had melted against his chest at the touch of his tongue - he had woken up with a suddenness that was stomach turning. The same kind of sickness you might feel after a turbulent flight or a rollercoaster. 

He squeezes his eyes shut under his hands as if to rid himself of the memory of his dream, but it doesn’t work at all- it only seems to sear the image into the back of his eyelids the harder he presses them together and Louis imagines that the vivid imaginings are being tattooed onto the outer layers of his brain to remain there forever. 

It’s quite unsettling really, how a dream can make him feel this uneasy and confused. It’s not like anyone will ever know what he had imagined within his slumber, it’s not like the enigmatic boy beside him has an inkling of what went through Louis’ sleeping brain, but it almost feels like he’s just shared his innermost thoughts with the world. He feels like they have been torn from his mind and projected onto the inky expanse of the night sky for the whole world to look at like some awfully embarrassing movie. 

It’s ridiculous, he knows this- of course nobody knows what he dreams about when all his demons are sleeping and his own self deprecating voice is silenced. Nobody knows how his own mind jumps at the chance of freedom and imagines things that are not allowed to be thought under the glaring brightness of the sun.

But _Louis_ knows, and here now in the empty void of blackness his own hateful confusion is an awful lot more judgemental that the whole world's opinion would be combined. 

He doesn’t pretend to not know what dreams are, alright? It’s not like he’s ignorant to the fact that dreams are visions manifested by the deepest part of the psyche. Yeah, sometimes he dreams of stupid stuff -like his hair or teeth falling out or being chased by a dog or something completely random and ridiculous like being late for a flight and hurriedly panicking through an airport. 

But they all _mean something_ , they’re all derived from real life worries and stresses. They’re always jumbled up thoughts projected into snippets of utter absurdity that you're supposed to decode and work out in the early hours of the morning and throughout the day, leaving yourself wondering _“Just what did that all mean?”_

The hair and teeth falling out? It could symbolise Louis’ feeling that he’s failing, or losing a grip on his stability- he did have that recurring dream during exam season and just before his first football match with the university’s team. He’d dreamt of being late for a flight the night before he was to start work at the restaurant and he guesses it was because he had been worried he’d miss his alarm for his shift or that he’d be too slow taking people’s orders. Which, alright, as weird as they are he knows they make _sense-_ that his anxiousness and general worries over life had been pulled by his brain stem and warped into equivocal visions.

But this dream with Harry? The one where he's always looking for someone that he knows belongs to him and where he frets because he can’t find them, and then all of a sudden it’s Harry waiting for him with the biggest smile and who welcomes him with open arms, and now this time with a _kiss_. Yeah, he knows what that means too. He just doesn’t want to admit it. 

_Yet_. 

He dares to turn his head when he drops his hands from his face, and his mind nearly does a flip when he spies the glaring red digits on the clock that rests on the table beside Harry’s side of the bed. It’s now ten past four in the morning, and he’s just spent over an hour having an existential crisis. He hadn’t even felt the minutes slip by at all or had thought he had been even thinking about the matter for that long. 

He lets his eyes trace over Harry again, the outlines of him still shadowy and dark but that small sliver of light that glints into the room is bathing a quarter of him in watery blue. 

His arm is still tucked under his face that is squished into the pillow, and his broad back rises and falls like the ebb of the sea against rock as he breathes in and out, each time he does he stirs the dark curls around his face and suddenly some mad urge springs itself inside of Louis and before he can stop himself he reaches a hand out to breach the empty space between them. 

His fingers tremble as he tucks one under a twisting lock and lifts it away from Harry’s face, and it seems that all the breath that had gathered in the balloons of Louis’ lungs is cut off when he looks at him. 

He’s never seen him look so peaceful before, so childlike and carefree -gone is all expression and usual laughter lines, or worried creases of his brow and all that now remains is the blank, marble canvas of pure loveliness. His plump lips are parted ever so slightly, whirling breaths fanning out across his arm and over the outline of the ship that rests on his skin like the air in his lungs is rustling the sails and causing it to soar across the ocean. 

His skin is shadowed in sharp angles, the slowly growing sunrise bouncing off the structured plains of well made cheekbones and a strong jaw and over the cushy pillows of pink lips and Louis’ finger slides from his soft hair and over the expanse of his lovely face. 

He knows that he shouldn’t be touching Harry when he’s asleep and when he has no idea how Louis is staring at him or running a fingertip over the broad curve of his nose. 

He shouldn’t be _touching_ him at all -but he wants to. Even if it’s just to feel the softness of his cheeks or the hard slope of his nose, or the smooth slab of his forehead. Here now under the cover of darkness he feels that he can savour this and never let the cruel shine of sunlight touch it. This can be his own memory to store away for the future when he feels that he’ll never have _enough_ or when he can’t articulate what he _wants_. 

He must trace over his face a hundred different times, and each time he does he imagines that he’s etching poetry into his skin to be embedded into his bones and to wash into the crimson of his veins. He wants to let this Harry - this sleeping vision with closed eyes and a rested soul- he wants him to know what Louis _thinks_. What his heart sings to him beneath the murky and confused confines of his chest- he wants to write it out onto Harry’s skin with a finger and maybe that will be enough. Perhaps in some weird way this can be his confession. He doesn’t say anything aloud, Harry isn’t even awake but it means something to Louis. 

He’s here touching him, actually allowing himself to feel his warm skin beneath his own and he’s not pulling away or hiding beneath the covers. In some small way that’s a monumental confession. Whether it’s to Harry or to himself he doesn’t know, and what exactly he’s trying to confess is lost on him too. 

Harry stirs then ever so gently under the ivory covers and Louis pulls his hand back slowly, hovering it in the air and staying stock still as utter panic rushes to his heart in fears that Harry might wake up. He doesn’t however, his shoulders tense for a moment and then fall like the billowing descent of a feather as he releases a long, dreamy sigh. 

“Louis” he breathes out wistfully, his voice raspy with sleep and sounding like the crisp dew of a winter morning. It’s perhaps the most beautiful sound Louis’ ever heard, and that thought alone makes the thumping muscle in his chest pound like a hammer. 

He can’t move, or even breathe for the moment- frozen solid under the ten tonne weight of his own weakness and the embarrassment that is coursing through his body at the feeling of nearly being caught. Harry moves once again under the covers, his large body shifting to the side and Louis practically turns to stone when his muscled arm flings itself across Louis’ legs. 

“Lou” Harry mumbles again, voice rumbling like muffled thunder and Louis can’t even allow himself to delight at the endearment because he’s bolting out of the bed like he’s been electrocuted. 

He needs to just distance himself from Harry before his mind gets even more tangled like ribbons lost in a drawer, and he doesn’t even look back as he almost runs from the bed without a second thought. He’s really let himself get carried away -gazing at Harry and touching him like he somehow has a right to act that way. They’re _friends_ and nothing more, and they never will be anything else because neither of them want anything more. Louis doesn’t -of _course not_ and Harry is probably still in love with his ex boyfriend. 

He scrambles past the open bedroom doors and out into the quaint little suite with the large couch and the piano- his hurried footsteps muffled by the thick layers of carpet. The black shadow of the piano looms at him from the corner of the room like a snarling panther, white ivory keys bared like ferocious teeth and he gulps down all his bittersweet memories of playing for his mother as he scurries past it to come to the large wooden desk that rests before the window. 

He’d thrown his copy of _The Anthology of British Literature_ there earlier, all creased and dog eared like a well loved piece of furniture and he snaps it up rather hastily as he ambles towards the couch. He throws himself down on it then with a heavy sigh bubbling past his lips -he guesses it’s all his repression formulated into sound- and he sinks back into the soft cushion of the couch with his book propped on his knees. 

He’s never been very good at articulating what he wants to say when it comes to his own feelings. Sure he can crank out an eight thousand word analysis of what the green light or the billboard of eyes symbolizes in _The Great Gatsby_ , or he can ramble on in smudges of blue ink about the depth of Emily Dickinson’s imagery of the sun in her poetry. But when it comes to the deep expression of Louis Tomlinson...well then it almost comes across like he doesn’t know who that is. 

He never knows what to say because his thoughts and feelings are separate things because one is telling him how he has to think and the other is telling him what he should feel and it’s all very confusing and jumbled. He’s never tried keeping a journal because he’s always been too afraid that someone might find it and read his innermost conflictions and at the same time he doesn’t really want to know what he’d scribble down if he got the chance. He’s too afraid to know just how deep his own mind is -like a never ending well that sinks to the bottom of the earth and drags everything down into the swampy waters of its depths. 

But poetry is his way of smoothing out his feelings and delving into the words of others to make sense of his own. Here now amongst the pages of prose he feels _understood_ and that his late night existentialism is valid. The words of John Clare, Wordsworth or Donne make sense to him and feel almost like they were made for him -that perhaps he can bury his own thoughts between the lines of classicism and romantic notions. 

His eyes begin to droop after a while of sitting perched on the couch and reading over the many highlighted pieces of poetry from his textbook, and behind the curtain the sun begins to shine like a bulbous sphere of deep amber. His head rests against the armrest of the couch and his heavy eyes close gratefully, and as he begins to drift off his mind whirls around with a line from a poem that he’s read so many times. 

But a line that has never made such an impact on him until now. 

_If ever any beauty I did see; Which I desired, and got, twas but a dream of thee._

* * *

He wakes a few hours later to the soft chirping of birds that can be heard from a window that is letting a tickling breeze swan its way into the room, and the delicate sound of piano keys. 

His eyes feel like they’ve been stitched together and it’s slightly painful in a twinging sort of way to open them to the now bright glow of seven a.m. He’s still on the couch, but he’s laid out properly and tucked in a warm blanket and there’s a pillow under his head. He shifts a little and notices that his book is placed on the floor beside him, and it’s still open on the page he’d fallen asleep reading. The words of John Donne glare back at him in Georgian font, and they jumble together in a bleary haze through his sleepy eyes. 

He lets his eyes trail over to the corner where Harry sits on the piano bench, and something warm blossoms in his chest at the thought that he must have been the one to fetch him a blanket last night. The endearment he feels right now threatens to almost snuff out all breathable air in the room, and he sits up slightly dizzy at the fond feeling that is swarming his veins like cheap drugs. 

Harry stops his playing instantly when he notices Louis scrambling up off the couch, his green eyes glinting across the small room like two polished emeralds and locking onto Louis’ rather droopy ones. He’s fully dressed in a red and white striped button up and those signature tight jeans, and his hair is bouncy and framing his face in luscious curls. Louis gulps down a hard lump in his throat when he remembers how soft his hair had felt under his fingertips as he’d played with it last night. He’s sure he’s blushing -he can feel it travel up his face like he’s been branded. 

Louis is also sure he looks a mess - he always does this time of the day with his mussed up hair that sticks out at all angles and his puffy eyes that still cling to sleep. But Harry doesn’t seem miffed at all by his early morning appearance because he smiles so widely and beautifully that Louis swears he can hear the sun mourn her own existence in the sky. Harry surely shines brighter than any galactic source of light, just sitting there unbothered by complications and worries while tinkling on a piano and beaming like a star. 

“Morning, Louis” Harry greets him then, dropping his eyes back to his hands but he doesn’t resume playing- he just fidgets with the silver rings wrapped around his fingers. Louis almost sways backwards at the sound of his name -the memory of how Harry had whispered it in his sleep last night coming back to Louis’ mind and landing on him with all the force of being hit over the head with a hammer. 

“Morning” Louis smiles back as best as he can, but he knows it’s still wider than when he smiles at anyone else “thank you for the um...the blanket” 

“No problem” Harry looks back up and there’s a flicker of something that crosses his face then that causes his brows to twitch downwards “did you….sleep there most of the night?” 

He looks almost disappointed, like he’s done something wrong and a bolt of guilt shoots through Louis’ heart like ice -Harry must think that Louis had left the bed earlier than he had or that perhaps he hadn’t wanted to be in the same bed as him at all. Maybe that part is true -it’s not that Louis doesn’t want to sleep beside Harry, perhaps it’s the fact that he wants it too much that had caused him to distance himself. 

“Oh no! No, I woke up at like four and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I um...just got up to read for a bit. Guess I just drifted off without realising” Louis scratches his head to alleviate some of the awkwardness he’s feeling -if only Harry knew how Louis had bolted like a spooked horse from the bed last night because he was afraid of how much he wanted to explore every line of Harry’s face, and how his name had been sighed so dreamily from those cushioned lips of his. 

Harry seems to be satisfied with that answer, his face smoothing back to his usual handsome cheeriness. He stands then on his long legs, pushing away from the piano and coming around to the other end of the couch. His eyes glint in the morning light and the hair around his face is moved ever so gently by the whisper of the flittering breeze that flows into the room, and Louis’ heart clenches so hard he feels he might pass out. 

He knows he’s crossed a line inside his own mind and the memory of last night comes swimming back to him then much more vividly at the sight of him so close. 

God, if only Harry knew how creepy Louis had been last night then surely he’d run a mile from him. A rapid flush of embarrassment rushes through him then at the thought of how he’d traced lines and spirals on Harry’s skin with a finger, and his eyes avert from his face to stare out the open window. He wishes all his incessant worries and horrid repression could spring from his mind and slither their way to the window to be lost with the wind forever. If only it was that easy, he scoffs inwardly, freedom always comes with a price. 

“Hey uh...I was wondering if you wanted to go get breakfast with me?” Harry’s voice is slow and careful, and Louis allows himself to trail his eyes back to his face. It’s sheepish in its expression, and his teeth are worrying his bottom lip like they’re trying to gnaw a hole through it. 

“Oh yeah, is it ready downstairs now? I’ll just go get dressed” Louis begins to move around the couch but Harry shifts a little on his feet, wringing his large hands in front of him and….is he _blushing_? His cheeks are a little red against the rest of his face, and the sight of the pretty pink colour against his skin makes Louis sigh aloud like a silly teenager. 

“I...thought maybe we could go into town? Just to get away from the house for a bit. I mean if you don’t want to that’s fine we can just join the others downstairs” Harry mutters his words into a timorous jumble as he waves a hand around like he’s trying to dispel any sort of anxiety he may be feeling.

“Yes, let’s go!” Louis nods his head with a smile, heart leaping in his chest at the thought of escaping the confines of the house with Harry for a while, and when he realises that he’s probably smiling like an idiot he shrugs away his excitement as he adds with a cough “Yeah, I’m starving, mate. Good plan” 

“Right, well I’ll leave you to get ready then” Harry’s eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles “meet you downstairs in ten minutes?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be down” Louis nods purposefully, trying to stand lazily and without care as Harry makes his way around him to walk to the door. He’s shaking on the inside though, and it’s both exhilarating and infuriating to be so wound up over going to breakfast with a friend. It isn’t like it’s a _date_ , or anything...not that Louis would ever want it to be. _Certainly not._

Harry throws him one last smile over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door, and Louis stands idly in the middle of the room while pretending to stretch, but as soon as the door is closed and Harry is gone he almost jumps over the couch to get to the bedroom. 

Clothes are scattered from drawers as he tries to find something to wear, and eventually he settles on jeans and a light blue shirt that’s short sleeves show off his tanned arms, and as he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror he finds that his hands tremble a little as he buttons the material up to his neck. 

He has to mentally calm himself down and try to slow the racing of his sporadic heart but it’s to no avail and his head swims with all sorts of thoughts and his chest feels like it’s full of butterflies that tickle his lungs and fly through the gaps in his ribs. There’s a metaphorical dark pit that houses the souls of the lost and confused, and all the spirits of people who have suffered unrequited affections or desires that they can’t make sense of -and Louis is certain he’s free falling into the darkness right now. 

His eyes are wide and bright, but his mouth is set in a hard line and there’s a deep crevice between his eyebrows that has been etched into his skin by the hand of turmoil and he sighs deeply with his elbows against the bathroom sink. 

Somehow within the last couple of days Harry has managed to carve himself a spot inside of Louis’ soul, and each time he breathes in he can feel the deep lettering of his name sear itself into his heart and etch itself onto his bones. 

Louis wonders if he has enough room inside of himself to house his own tormented psyche and troubled heart without allowing Harry to fill up all the empty voids with his smile and green eyes and tattoos. _Fuck_ , Louis curses inside his head, he really is grappling in the dark with nothing to latch onto. Well, maybe not _nothing_ ...Louis could always reach his hands out and cling to the front of Harry’s shirt and pull him in to melt into him and wrap him up in the cushy muscle beneath his chest. But would Harry embrace him back? Would Louis want that? _Does_ he want that? 

His head pounds like a hammer off an anvil and he winces to himself as he stands up straighter, his hands gripping the cool porcelain of the sink and his eyes once again finding his reflection in the mirror. 

_Pull yourself together Louis,_ he scolds himself inwardly, _you’re going for breakfast like friends do all the time. Harry just wants to get out of the house for a while and away from his family._

Besides, Louis has vowed to himself to enjoy this week because he sure as hell is never going to have another one like it. He’ll allow himself to enjoy Harry’s company and he will not let his mind run away with itself and convince him of all sorts of things. He nods his head to his reflection like a mad man, as if he’s trying to tell himself to get a grip. 

He turns on his heels then, his beat up Vans silently slapping against the carpeted floor as he exits the bathroom and he doesn’t even bother to look at himself in the floor length mirror that is tucked in the corner of the bedroom. Instead he leaves vanity behind and almost skips out the bedroom door and down the stairs. 

The house is quieter than it had been last night, even though the gaggle of guests had been nowhere near rambunctious, but still there is a hush that falls over the large downstairs that is altogether eerie. Perhaps most of them have not woken up yet -it is only half seven in the morning but Louis doesn’t even remember his tiredness as he heads down the large staircase and out to the large back porch. 

The sun is shining ever so elegantly in the cerulean sky, kissing the trees and rose bushes with her gentle glimmer and down upon the small group of people that gather near a long buffet table. It’s laid out with pitchers of orange juice, baskets of toast, assortments of fruit and plates of croissants and is like the typical spread one might see set up at a hotel. Anne stands by the table pouring herself a cup of coffee and throws him a large smile when she spots him. 

He can’t help but notice how Theo and his girlfriend sit at a nearby table under the pleasant shade of a parasol, both with steaming long glasses of coffee and a platter of fruit in front of them. They’re both dressed immaculately despite the early hour of the morning and Louis can’t help but think that they look like they’ve stepped out of the pages of some editorial fashion spread or other. 

Chelsea throws him a small smile that Louis faintly returns (he has nothing against her whatsoever, she seems really lovely to be honest) and her friendly face glows under the soft rays of sun that manage to peak under the shade of the umbrella, but Theo doesn’t show him any such kindness which is not surprising at all. The Italian boy has a large pair of sunglasses on over his eyes and it’s unsettling really since Louis can’t tell if he’s staring at him or not, but he drops his gaze, sets his jaw tight and looks away. 

“Morning, Louis” Anne greets with a beam, plating a few slices of toast “do you want to join me? Charles should be down soon too” 

“Oh no, thank you. Harry and I are going into town” Louis refuses politely but a bit loudly since he wants Theo to hear him. Perhaps it’s a little petulant of him to be so childish but he wants to irritate this guy as much as he can. He clearly still cares about Harry and who he’s dating if last night's behaviour is anything to go by. He had clearly been jealous, and Louis wishes to poke and prod the green eyed monster inside the boy's chest until it rears its head and claws itself from him. 

“Alright dear, I’ll see you later then” Anne pats him warmly on the cheek as she sashays by him to saunter towards another table that is tucked beneath the expanse of ivory cloth. Louis throws her a smile and a nod but nearly jumps a foot in the air when he feels a bony hand clamp itself on his shoulder. 

He whips around then to see Charles beside him, a friendly smile on his weathered face and a dull twinkle in his eyes. 

“Morning Louis, are you joining us for breakfast?” he asks then, his eyes flickering to where his wife is now sitting blowing on her hot coffee and staring out at the expanse of green velvet lawns. 

“No, I’m heading off with Harry for a while. Have you seen him around?” Louis asks then, his own eyes skipping around his surroundings to look for Harry’s tall shadow but he can’t see him. 

“Poppy cornered him, I’m afraid. I think she’s trying to convince him to play piano at the wedding” Charles rolls his eyes then and laughs a little, but the effort of it seems a little strenuous, and when he chuckles he winces just slightly from his pursed lips. Louis notices then that his pallor is almost grey, and there are deep set bags beneath his eyes and shallow crevices in the dips of his collarbones. 

“Charles, are you alright?” Louis asks him, placing a gentle hand on his elbow and furrowing his face in worry. He really doesn’t look too well at all, and there’s a ghost of a long stored away memory that pokes Louis’ brain at the sight of him. He can almost remember the ghostly skeletal figure of his mother if he allows himself to, but he pushes it down and covers it with a determined force.

“Yes, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about, my boy” he shakes his head of long grey hair “just been having a bit of chest pain. I would say it’s an infection starting, I do always get it this time of year. High pollen count and all” 

He’s about to tell Charles to sit down, or offer to grab him a cup of coffee but a bounding figure with flowing curls comes into Louis’ line of vision then and all words get stuck in his throat. 

“Hey! Ready to go?” Harry smiles brightly, a ringed hand coming to push away a long piece of hair that has fallen across his face. 

Louis just stares at him for a moment before even responding, his blue eyes just soaking in the way the sun looks as it lights up the angles of his face and how the shade that cuts across the back porch of the house nestles itself in the hollows of his cheekbones and under the sharpness of his jaw. He’s tall and broad as he stands before Louis, and there’s an utter undeniable warmness that swaddles in his chest and he feels like he could just live here under the looming figure of him forever. He almost wants to curl against him and has a very unsettling thought about how he is the perfect height to tuck himself underneath Harry’s chin. Harry just looks back at Louis, his smile never faltering and his eyes brightening exponentially and all the while Louis can feel the burning glare of hazel eyes behind Balenciaga sunglasses.

“I’ll see you boys later” Charles interrupts their staring contest then, and Louis rips his eyes away hurriedly to stare at a large potted plant that rests beside the back door. 

They both bid farewell to him as he makes his way over to Anne, and for a moment Louis is afraid to even look at Harry again -the vivid memory of his dream coming back to him and threatening to drown him in a wave of confusion. He feels sad with himself for always being so corrupt with his own happiness, and wishes that he wasn’t always so quick to torture himself. 

But he also wants to fight with himself for the sake of it -to almost prove to the hopeful part of his mind that not all is lost, that he can push when he wants to. He bottles up his weakness and allows courage to take over as he reaches a hand out and takes Harry’s. The other boy stiffens just slightly at the sudden contact, but he relaxes when Louis winds his fingers through his and looks up at him through his lashes. 

“Theo’s watching us” Louis all but whispers, but he isn’t even sure if he is watching them because he can’t see where his eyes are pointed behind his ridiculously dark shades -but he needs some excuse “let’s go then, Harold. I’m starved” 

Harry smiles at him then, that beautiful dimple slicing onto his face and Louis’ heart almost implodes in his chest when he feels his fingers squeeze Louis’ even tighter. 

“It’s only a short walk into town from here, you don’t mind? We could drive if you want” Harry asks him then as they walk back through the house and out the front door. 

“No, I don’t mind. I think a walk would be nice” Louis tells him, secretly delighting at the fact that Harry has not dropped his hand yet despite Theo being well away from them. He smiles down at him widely and Louis throws one back, feeling his cheeks tighten and his eyes crease, and inside his chest his heart soars like a bird. 

Louis knows that there has always been a profound sadness tucked within his own fleeting happiness, and for most of his life he’s found it hard to separate them. His elation is always ripped apart by his own self deprecation and torment and he always ends up deflating like a burst balloon when he’s reminded of how he should be. 

But here now under the softness of the sun as he walks into town with Harry’s hand in his own, he just feels happy and his melancholy takes a backseat.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOUIS LEFT SYCO OMG IM SO HAPPY!! my sisters and I actually celebrated last night. I know he's not completely free or whatever, but he's one step closer and I'm so excited for his future. Also, hope you enjoy the chapter guys!!  
> Much love,  
> Taylor x

_**My sombre heart seeks you,** _

_**always** _

_**\- Pablo Neruda** _

The small cafe that they end up eating breakfast in, is tucked quaintly beside a fabric shop on a cobbled street of sandstone. The sun gleams in through the window and kisses the ripples of the narrow river that winds through the town like a silky length of ribbon, and it casts its amber gleam against Harry’s skin as they sit at a small table with a chipped teapot and a vase of fake daisies. It’s all very reminiscent of an era long since passed that reminds Louis of leather bound novels, Earl Grey tea and crinkly newspapers announcing war. The thatched little buildings are very picturesque, and Louis just sits back and enjoys the flowing pieces of conversation that are traded between a set of voluptuous pink lips and his own. 

He lets Harry ramble on with funny stories about his friendship with Niall (Louis had laughed particularly loud during one where Niall went missing on a night out and was found trying to rob a shopping trolley from Tesco) and Harry had just shook his head of curls and smiled with crinkles by his eyes as he’d reminisced about the Irishman’s drunken adventures. 

While Harry natters on between sips of coffee and bites of his scone, Louis finds that he would be quite content to just sit here and listen to Harry’s deep, honey smooth voice all day while the sun glints in the windows and casts golden beams of light upon his porcelain face. He suddenly has an urge to tuck one of the artificial daisies behind Harry’s ear (it would look very pretty twisted around his chestnut locks) because the way he looks right now with his glinting green eyes and sun kissed face reminds Louis of summer, and Harry is just the embodiment of languid evenings and blooming foliage - his hands are the roots of trees and his long limbs are the stems of flowers, and those lips that keep moving ever so lazily are their velvety petals of blush pink. 

Louis almost wants to slap himself for thinking something so utterly sappy and downright embarrassing. He shifts in his seat and brings his lips up to his china cup that is hand painted with cherry blossoms and takes a large gulp of his sweet tea as Harry natters on about his music course and how awfully inspiring his professor is. Louis wants to input something about his oppositely horrid English lecturer, but he rather likes the way Harry compares Professor Barrett to the likes of Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen ( _“he’s a genius, Louis! He writes his own music too! The man’s a poet, truly he is!”_ ) and he also adores how he twirls his hands in the air and how his eyes light up like Christmas bulbs. 

_Adore_? Really, Louis? 

He wants to scold himself both mentally and literally -perhaps he could just tip his steaming cup of tea onto his lap in one hurried movement, and then thoughts of Harry could be replaced with Louis’ worry over his burning flesh. But despite his overly protective nature when it comes to his own mind, he can also admit that he feels rather happy here much to the displeasure of the skulking demon that haunts the moors of his memory. 

He’s content here in the dusty corner of this old tea shop with a poetically beautiful boy that is filled with moon dust, dark coffee, piano notes and everything else that is wonderful in this rather dreary world. Louis has always appreciated beautiful things - and appreciating Harry’s company is the same thing. _Right_? He’s certainly not sitting here thinking thoughts that are utterly detrimental to himself and those carefully built walls that encase his repressed younger self. _Not at all._

His happiness doesn’t waver even when Harry announces that they should leave and take a walk around town -in truth the little sneaky bubble of ebullience that has pocketed itself inside his heart is now threatening to expand to a size that his small body surely won’t be able to contain. Louis can feel the choking fondness balloon inside his lungs when Harry refuses to let him contribute anything towards their breakfast- shushing his incessant pleas to be allowed to pay with a shake of his head and a friendly elbow to the side. 

“Louis, _I_ asked _you_ to come for breakfast. It’s my treat” he says as he steps up to the small counter that’s surface is occupied by a pair of pointy elbows that belong to a dark haired cashier. She looks up from the magazine she had been flicking through when she hears them approach, and a rather wide smile casts itself on her affable face when she eyes Louis. 

“Was everything alright for you?” she asks silkily, some sort of trickling charm taking over the expression on her face that causes her eyes of mud brown to melt like two pieces of dark chocolate. A deep blush -the same shade as the dusty pink apron she wears -colours the rounded plains of her cheeks when Louis shoots her a friendly smile. 

“Yeah, it was great, love. Thanks” Louis tells her with a nod of his head “I love a good proper English breakfast. The scones were really nice too. You make them yourself?” 

“Oh no, my Mum does. She owns the place, I just help out with the service and stuff” the girl- _Molly_ according to the shiny name tag pinned to her apron -waves a hand to point around the cozy tea shop “she’ll be delighted you loved them” 

“Make sure you tell her, yeah?” Louis smiles widely- sunshine and friendliness radiating from his every pore “best breakfast I’ve had in a long time” 

“I sure will” Molly nods her head with a twinkle in her eye, leaving them on Louis’ face for probably a minute longer than she should. Louis doesn’t even seem to notice the growing redness on her face or how she has somehow forgotten Harry’s presence- as if he’s some translucent entity that she can’t quite see “Are you on holiday? We do get quite a lot of tourists this time of year” 

“No, not exactly. We’re here for a wedding, Harry’s cousin is getting married” Louis says to her, and finally she lets her deep chocolate eyes land on the willowy figure that rests idly by Louis’ side. She surveys him with a curious glimmer swimming in the warm mud pools of her eyes that are set against a honey toned face, and her wide arched lips downturn ever so slightly. But any expression of distaste is snuffed out rather quickly then when she plasters a hospitable smile onto her pleasant mouth. 

“Oh, how lovely!” she beams, but there is nothing but empty falsities in her tone as she trails her eyes down Harry’s frame and flickers them to the little space that rests between the two boys' bodies. Louis has his hands tucked into the pockets of his jean jacket but his body is slightly tilted towards the larger one that seems to loom over him like a protectively curled blanket- he can feel the denim shoulder of his coat rest against the front of Harry’s chest but he doesn’t feel an inkling of desire to move away. 

A flicker of a dying hope slithers within Molly’s earthen eyes and her pink lips twist into a pressed line as she looks away from them then to punch the buttons on the old looking till that sits atop the wooden counter. 

“That’ll be fifteen pounds eighty all together then” Molly announces as the till pops open with a resounding clink but her eyes once again return to Louis despite the fact Harry is the one rummaging through his wallet. From beside him Harry shoots an arm across the counter top with a scrunched up twenty pound note in his hand, his limbs stiffening to a statues likeness, and those viridescent eyes of his spark with a jade wildness that makes the friendly cashier drop her wandering gaze from Louis’ face. 

“Here’s your change” the girl mumbles as she hands Harry back a handful of coins that jingle pleasantly against the rings on his hand, but her smile faintly returns when she looks back at Louis who now stands with his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jacket “Come again soon!” 

“Definitely! Bye, Molly!” Louis throws over his shoulder as he follows Harry’s stalking figure to the door, giving the girl a jovial wave just as the glass door clangs gently behind them. He’s always liked being friendly towards people in service since he knows exactly how hard it can be to deal with rude customers and he likes to think that perhaps his fluid smiles and amiability has made her morning just a little bit easier -but he doubts he’ll ever be back here again. 

There’s only a couple more days until the wedding and then he’ll have to say goodbye to these pleasant stone cottages and rolling hills of green velvet that surround them now, and of course to the Palladian chunk of stone that is the Styles estate. Of course he’ll have to bid farewell to this whole facade that he’s been playing this week as Harry’s boyfriend, and something painful like the dull prick of a blunt knife makes his heart seize beneath his chest. 

The faint memory - that he’s tried to bury beneath his current state of fleeting pleasantness - of his reality back home in his stuffy flat where boring menial life seems to be at the forefront of his existence, now threatens to spring forth from the depths of his mind like the sudden blooming of a buoyant flower. He can feel something ghostly like the prodding of sharp claws drag themselves against the cushy muscle beneath his skull, but the ever modulated voice of Harry cuts through his growing thoughts. 

“You should have asked for her number” Harry says as he cocks his head to the side, a ruminative green glimmer in his eyes as he studies Louis’ face. 

Outside the sun is beginning to shy behind the expanse of wispy clouds that have now started to swarm the previously spotless sky - but it lends its golden glow onto Harry and swaddles him in its luminance, letting the auburn pieces of his hair glitter like spooled threads of russet gold amongst the dark curtains of brown. His lovely porcelain face that is unblemished is shining like glinting marble as the soft rays that splice through the clouds kiss his skin, and the tickling breeze makes the curls under his chin flutter like the wings of a butterfly. 

He’s _stunning_ , Louis thinks to himself. 

“Huh?” Louis questions dumbly, his brow furrowing as Harry continues to stare at him from the corners of his eye. He falters a little as they walk past a glaring red phone box that stands upon the cobbled bricks, his clumsy steps making his long legs walk as slowly as Louis’ shorter ones. 

“That girl back there, she was flirting with you, you know. You should have asked for her number. She was very pretty” Harry tells him then, awkwardly shoving his large hands into the pockets of his black coat. There’s a few well kept pots of petunias that are placed very neatly along the paved walkway, and their pink petals that gently dance in the breeze are the same colour as the blush that now scatters itself across Harry’s face. 

“Was she? I didn’t even notice if she’d been flirting, but she isn’t my type” Louis shrugs- and really he hadn’t even considered the importance of her appearance as he’d talked to her. Sure she had been friendly, but had she really been flirting? If she had, well then Louis had apparently missed that too. 

“Thought she looked like your type. Brunette, short and tanned. Kind of like Tina, you know?” Harry rolls his broad shoulders in a nonchalant shrug but with the trepid movement the glaring image of Christina comes with it. Her face rolls from the back of Louis’ mind like the leaden battering of robust waves, and there in the forefront of his consciousness she lies like a heavy weight. Louis can almost feel the haunting ghost of a headache coming on. 

“Not my type” Louis repeats in a mutter, kicking a stray clump of leaves that are gathered upon the uneven cobbled stones with the tip of his weathered Vans. 

He wishes he could say how the darkest crevice of his mind desires a type that is _brunet_ , tall, green eyed and littered with tattoos but of course he doesn’t - he’s trained himself in the art of repressed secrecy, and just because Harry looks marvelously beautiful today under the sun's embrace doesn’t mean Louis is about to blurt out detrimental truths. He can’t even believe he has just allowed that thought to even pass silently through his own head without burying it under the sand first. 

“She’d probably turn out to be crazy too, so you know….not my type” Louis says with a light chuckle and a smile, trying to alleviate any sort of awkwardness that has settled itself within his veins because of Harry’s curious emerald stare “now come on, Harold! I want a hot chocolate” 

Harry doesn’t even have time to protest before Louis is hooking a hand around his elbow and pulling him towards a small cramped looking coffee stand that sits on the neatly paved park trail, right by a huge sign that displays pictures of the various birds that frequent the area and passages warning against littering. 

The small blue box oddly reminds Louis of one of those old police boxes that used to be in use during the 20th Century. Its shutters are open and behind them a welcoming middle aged lady sits at a tiny counter that is stocked with paper coffee cups and a chunky till - it clearly doesn’t look too comfortable of a space to work in but she shoots them a very warm smile as they skip over to her. Well, Louis skips, Harry clumsily trips over his feet as Louis drags him along. 

“Hello!” Louis greets pleasantly with a smile, leaving his hand in the crook of Harry’s elbow because it feels warm there and just because he wants to, and somehow he allows himself the small comfort….the small _victory_. 

“Morning, fellas! What can I get you?” she asks in a voice that indicates years of heavy smoking- crackling like an open wood fire. 

“I’ll have a hot chocolate, please. What would you like, Harry?” Louis asks softly, his eyes turning towards Harry who is staring at the small menu that’s chalk lettering spells out only about five options, but he muses contemplatively like he’s making a serious life decision. Louis just smiles endearingly at his scrunched up nose and pursed lips and can’t seem to take his eyes away from his face - suddenly the hand that is cradling his elbow feels very hot and he drops it rather lamely to hang by his side. 

“I’ll get a hot chocolate too” Harry pleasantly announces with a charming smile, accompanied by his dimple of course that makes something warm - just like the hot milk that the barista starts brewing in one of those silver industrial machines - spread throughout his stomach and seep its heat into the threads of his veins. The palm of his hand tingles with the itching memory of how Harry’s had felt against it this morning as they’d walked into town - his fingers twitching uselessly by his side like they’re somehow aching to wind themselves in the warmth of Harry’s embrace and tangle between them like the snaring roots of trees or the unsalvageable knot of wool. 

He just shoves both his hands into the deep expanse of his denim pockets and hopes that their craving for skin on skin can die down within the mess of gum wrappers and lint. He becomes thankfully distracted then when the hot chocolates are made and Louis has to wrap his fingers around the steaming paper cup after he gives the lady a five pound note and a few lumps of spare change as a tip because he’s a nice person, you know? 

They both walk away from the eccentric blue box with grateful smiles and slow steps as they take their time strolling on the park's very pristine trail. The small, narrow river that winds happily against the muddy bank is home to a small huddle of ducks and one very austere looking swan who glides along the rivers surface like something regal, and Louis can’t help but announce how adorable he thinks the fluffy brown and yellow ducklings are. His wish to capture one gets a deep laugh from Harry, and he nearly splutters around the lid of his hot chocolate. 

“Oh come on, Harold! They’re well cute, yeah? I’d love a little duck as a pet. Think you’d fit one in your pocket, eh?” Louis teases, fingers poking into the deep crevice of Harry’s black coat. 

“I would love to steal a duck for you Louis, truly I would. But I wouldn’t want to be detained by the park ranger for kidnapping the wildlife, now would I?” he asks with feigned seriousness in his tone and Louis can’t help but smile at him over the rim of his cup. 

“You’d steal a duck for _me_? You’re daft, Harry. Truly, you are” Louis shakes his head fondly, feeling something deeply suffocating blossoming inside his chest but the feeling is joyous and makes him feel high like a billowing kite. 

Harry just laughs from beside him - the sound like the rumbling of felled trees against the earthy blanket of a forest floor - and they continue walking through the small park with effortless chatter bouncing between them. Harry is one of those great conversationalists that don’t have to say much to get their point across and who tucks passion behind every word he uses and lets excitement trickle into his tone unabashedly when discussing something he loves. Louis could listen to him all day natter on about his favourite podcasts or what new bands he discovers over Spotify, and he genuinely feels like he wouldn’t interrupt him once despite his very exuberant and attention deficit personality contesting his very silence.

“I uh….never thanked you for last night” Harry mumbles rather embarrassedly then after a few moments of comfortable quietness that consists of their dull footfalls and the chirping of neighbouring birds that congregate within the jungle of trees. 

“Thank me? For what?” Louis asks after a sip of his hot chocolate, and he follows Harry over to a painted black bench that rests near the edge of the river beside two potted flower arrangements. 

“You cheered me up last night...after all that crap that happened” Harry reminisces with a bitter sigh as he plonks himself on the bench. Louis sits down beside him, tucking one leg underneath the other and bringing his cup up to his mouth to blow on - his ever curious eyes of oceanic blue studying Harry’s now stiff countenance. He’s clearly uncomfortably remembering the engagement announcement that had so cruelly ripped vicious tears in his soul, and Louis can see how a dim light rests behind his eyes and snuffs out all previous joy. 

“Well that’s what friends are for, right?” Louis tells him then with a soft voice and even softer eyes that bore into Harry’s face and study the downturned direction of his plump lips. There is always something so carnally mournful that rears up inside of him at the sight of Harry’s discomfort or sadness - he quite dislikes whenever he can see something like memorable grievance pollute the feral pools of his green eyes or shadow over his handsomeness. 

People like Harry were made for perpetually beautiful happiness, a life untouched by the menial melancholy of everyday atrocities. He should always be smiling and joyous - and somewhere in the back of his mind Louis knows he’d trade all his own insignificant gladness for Harry’s permanent contentment.

“I don’t like when you’re sad, Harry” Louis finds himself whispering before he can stop himself - the words joining in with the early morning breeze and fluttering their way through the leafy tops of the trees like a shaking wind. Louis just clamps his mouth shut rather accusingly at himself, but Harry looks at him with shining eyes and a rather fond smile on his face that seems to make the clinging ghost of desolation vanish from his expression like a wavering puff of smoke. 

“I’m not sad now, I promise” he declares softly with a fond shake of his head “you really are great at making people happy, Louis. You really did take my mind off of things last night, so thank you” 

“Well you’re welcome, I guess” Louis smiles, awkwardly running a hand through his tousled hair. 

He hadn’t tried to cheer Harry up for gratitude or for some self service to his own conscience - he’d wanted to replace Harry’s sadness with giggles and unimportant conversation because he cares about him and hadn’t wanted Harry to feel desperately dejected for the rest of the night. After he and Harry had sat in the dark piano room -Louis requesting songs and Harry obligingly allowing his fingers to tinkle out symphonies - Louis had declared that Beethoven and his Moonlight Sonata was not going to help Harry’s downcast behaviour. Louis had taken his hand then (his soul and heart thrilling inside of him) and had stealthily dragged him back out to the garden where Louis had plucked a bottle of champagne from a table while they had hurried to the winding maze. They must have sat out there for hours, passing the bottle back and forth and getting joyously drunk as they’d sat with their backs against the scratchy vines. 

Of course his own sneaking, spurious soul had caused him to have a fitful night's sleep once they had eventually trailed upstairs to bed, and the memory of his dream and the fact that he had studied Harry while he’d slept now rushes forwards and makes him blush. He can feel the heat blossom up under the collar of his denim jacket and across his smooth face. 

“I just can’t believe he’s actually getting _married_ , you know? You’d think twenty one would be a bit young, but I guess it’s what he wants” Harry shakes his head absently, his eyes focused on the inked cross on his hand instead of Louis’ inquisitive eyes. 

“Well he seemed _so_ thrilled being with his fiance last night” Louis bites out sarcastically “I don’t think he even looked at her, he was too busy staring at you and insulting me” 

“I’m sorry I put you in that position, Louis. You know I never would have asked you to come here with me if I thought he’d react like that. I was just hoping he’d be a little jealous and that he would know I’m not some lonely, desperate singleton” Harry scoffs cruelly at himself, turning his face away to stare at the huddle of small ducklings that flail around against the water that laps at the river bank. 

“Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer...it’s just I’m curious” Louis shifts on the bench, scooting a little closer to Harry unconsciously and bringing his knees up to his chest. Harry turns then, eyes immediately going to the now bridged space between them and then flickering up to Louis like gooey pools of swamp moss - his whole face seems to soften then like a cotton blanket and his plump lips tug ever so slightly at the sides. 

“Yes, of course you can. I trust you, Louis, so you can ask me anything” Harry says with an unwavering sincerity that has Louis curling his legs up further into himself. 

“Why were you ever with him? I mean you’re _you_ Harry, you’re kind and unique and so, _so_ lovely” Louis rambles, feeling like he’s trading a piece of his soul for this truth - that somehow he’ll have to pay for his stifling honesty and be pushed even further down into the repressed pit of darkness that is housed in his mind “I’ve just met the guy but I can tell he’s not nice, not a good person, you know? I just can’t get my head around someone like _you_...loving someone like _that_ ” 

“You know he wasn’t always like that” Harry says with a twisted smile, his eyes fondly resurrecting memories from the back of his skull “yeah, he was always a little arrogant and a bit full of his own importance but we were kids and it was the sort of arrogance that was innocent, you know? He used to brag an awful lot that he was the best at soccer, or that he had the best grades, just stupid silly stuff. We used to laugh all the time though, that’s what made Eton a little better, that I had someone I could be myself with and just have fun. He was funny and he could be kind. I broke my hand once playing rugby and he carried everything for me, my bag, my books, right up until my hand was healed. I might have even pretended it was still broken for a while because I liked when he gave me attention” Harry blushes a little, and Louis just fondly smiles - not at the mention of Theo’s act of kindness but because of the image of a younger lovesick Harry.

“He was the only one who knew I was gay for a long time, I told him before I told my own family because I trusted him and because he was my best friend” Harry continues, fingers idly picking at the plastic lid atop his cup “You have to understand that he was the person I shared a dorm with, the person I snuck out with when we weren’t supposed to, the one who I’d sit with for hours talking nonsense to. Yeah he was a little full of himself, and loved to think he was royalty at school or whatever, but I was the one who knew the real side of him. The side he didn’t really show anyone else, and that’s why I could forgive him for being rude or conceited because I knew the real him. I was young though, and I just had the biggest crush on him and maybe I was stupid to ignore all the bullshit with him but I can’t take it back. Wish I could though. I could’ve spared myself a lot of hurt” 

“What happened last summer? I know some of the story, but not all of it. You don’t have to tell me, of course” Louis rushes out, hoping he isn’t probing or prying too much into Harry’s painful memories, but he just shakes his head of chestnut curls with a smile. 

“I told you, you can ask me anything. We’re friends, right? Friends tell each other stuff” Harry says as he throws an arm over the back of the bench, his long fingers dangerously close to Louis’ shoulder “and we used to go to his house in Italy a lot, but we hadn’t been in about two years because we’d just stayed here in England for those last few summers. Anyway, his father told us we could have the house for the summer since he was staying home and we jumped at the chance, I mean a whole summer without parents? I thought we’d be having parties and drinking all the wine in the cellar, I never thought that we’d….you know. It just happened one day and it was unexpected but I gave into it because I’d wanted him for the longest time, and he just kissed me, you know? We were a little drunk so I thought it was a one time thing but the next day he told me he had feelings for me, took off one of his rings and gave it to me as a promise. But when summer was nearly over and I asked him to come home with me to tell our families, well then he changed and told me that he didn’t want anything more to do with me, or to tell anyone because he wasn’t gay or whatever. He used another, rather hurtful word but I won’t say it” Harry grits his teeth a little, a muscle in his jaw jumping at the memory and Louis doesn’t have to try too hard to imagine what sort of colourful language Theo had used “I begged him to be with me, but he didn't want me like how I wanted him. So I just packed my stuff and got a car to the airport. Cried the entire flight home like an idiot, and spent the rest of the summer at my house feeling sorry for myself. Until Niall came over, dragged me out of bed and all the way to uni. And here we are” 

“Yeah, here you are” Louis wistfully says, the sides of his eyes crinkling as he looks at him and his heart expands in his chest at the sheer tenderness he feels at the notion of how Harry is strong enough to bare all of his heartache so honestly to him without flinching - all because he trusts Louis “with me, how very lucky you are Harry Styles” 

“Oh I know I am, I don’t doubt my luck, Louis Tomlinson. Not for a second” Harry softly tells him, those ringed fingers of his ghosting across the denim fabric that wraps around Louis’ upper arm. He nearly chokes on his own air when his blue eyes lock onto Harry’s of lovely green, and he feels like he could get lost in the wild forest of them if he keeps looking at him, but Harry drops his gaze and stares out past the river. 

“You know, last night when I told Theo that I’d tell his father about our summer together...I didn’t really mean it” Harry declares rather decidedly, and after a wistful pause he decides to plant his eyes on Louis’ face once again “I would never do anything like that, Louis. I just wanted to make him panic a little since he made you feel like shit. I would never out anyone like that, I hope you know that” 

Louis just sits there, stuck and unmoving on the wooden bench while his mind whirls around against the hardened shell of his skull like a spinning top, and his heart stills in his chest like an iceberg. There is something undeniably observatory in the green of Harry’s eyes that seems to spark with dutious knowledge, and the ensnared quiet soul inside of Louis seems to dance a waltz of freedom. But the rest of him is panicking like a rattling nervous case. Harry looks like he knows _something_ or suspects it at the very least. Why has he said those words to Louis? As if Louis would care about Harry’s morality when it comes to declaring other people's sexuality. Why would that be information that he wants Louis to know? Perhaps Louis is overreacting and Harry just wants him to know that he’s not a bad person (which Louis could never think). Yeah, that does seem the more logical explanation, right? 

“Yeah, I know” Louis nods dumbly, his mouth feeling dry and his tongue heavy as he speaks. 

“Good, because I’m not a bad person, and it’s not my secret to tell. No matter how much his reluctance to admit his relationship with me hurt, I’d never do that. I guess I can understand him though, it’s not an easy thing to come out and Theo’s father wouldn’t be the most understanding. Even I was shitting myself telling my dad even though he told me he already knew, so I can only imagine what it would be like for someone who’s parents wouldn’t be accepting” Harry explains, and Louis just sits there trying to hold back a scoff that is threatening to crawl up his throat and burst through his lips. He guesses he has more in common with Theo than he’d thought - an unaccepting father figure? That’s all too familiar. Louis takes a sip of his now cooling hot chocolate to try and rid the lump of bile that’s clogging his airways at the sudden thought of John Tomlinson that flashes through his mind. 

“I still would have come, you know. Even if you’d told me that Theo was horrible” Louis says softly - deciding to steer the subject away from repressed sexuality and disapproving fathers. Somewhere above them, a bird chirps happily and its call is the soundtrack to their momentary silence as Harry turns his eyes to look into Louis’ without saying anything “you could have told me he was a serial killer or something and I still would have come here with you. I...I guess I wanted to help you, even from the minute you asked me I knew what my answer would be”

“That’s because you’re a wonderful person, Louis. You really don’t give yourself enough credit” 

“I hope even when things go back to normal that we can still be friends? You’re actually a proper bloke, Harold. I’d hate to not be your friend” Louis declares with a smile, not really knowing what sort of courage (or perhaps madness) has been bestowed on him. There’s a part of him that resents the notion of being friends with Harry past this week, because he knows it’s going to be hard to ever be on the same level of friendship with him that Louis has with Liam for example, because he’ll always be craving something… _more_. An amount of something that is undefinable and unattainable, because he can never act on that part of himself. Never. 

“Of course! I mean, I can’t get my head around the fact that we were never friends before, you know? We just click, don’t we?” Harry beams, wide lips stretching and skin folding to make way for the dimples that make Louis sigh aloud. 

“Like two puzzle pieces” Louis blurts out wistfully before he can stop himself, but the birds keep chirping above him and the sun stays tucked behind the clouds. 

Perhaps honesty is not so detrimental after all? As long as he keeps it platonic and built with mutual respect, instead of the adoring fondness that is welling inside his stomach like warm tea then he can maintain a level of non complicated comradery. 

“I did warn you I’m terribly clingy. I might just have to keep you forever” Harry teases with a finger poking Louis’ blushing cheek, and somehow his momentary flimsiness when it comes to his own repression flits away like a buzzing bee because he blurts out another very incriminating string of words. 

“Forever it is then, I won’t mind” he says, his voice steady and dripping with a longing desire to be kept by Harry’s side for that immeasurable amount of time - but when he realises the weight of what he’s just said he coughs and looks away “we’ll be proper mates, yeah? Best friends and all that”

“Proper mates” Harry says the words like he’s trying to test out how they’d taste on the tip of his tongue, and by the way his face scrunches up and his eyes dim, Louis can guess that they taste quite bitter. Harry takes a large gulp of his drink as if to rid himself of the tangy aftertaste, and Louis feels his heart slowly turn to stone in his chest at the memory of all those times Harry had looked at him so longingly or whenever Anne assured him that she’d never seen Harry so happy with anyone before. 

Suddenly his own mouth feels rather sour. 

He just watches Harry then, his eyes studying his side profile as he continues to sip his hot chocolate and stare off into the distance to watch the gaggle of ducks disappear under the shade of the stone bridge that leaps over the river. 

He really is quite beguiling to look at - charming in a classically handsome way but he has something about him that is utterly arresting. He has layers upon layers of musical talent, poeticism, unwavering kindness and a gentleness that reminds Louis of the soft ebbing of the sea on a summer's night. Those are the traits that shine through his emerald eyes and light up his whole face, and Louis thinks it’s quite possibly a crime how the world just keeps on turning while being completely unaware of the magnetism of Harry Styles. He should be on a stage, worshipped and adored like a shining idol of pure unadulterated brightness. 

Louis just sits back and enjoys looking at him - letting his eyes trace over his hands and all the rings that wrap around his long fingers and seeing how many tattoos he can spy crawling up from the open front of his shirt, or how many auburn strands he has hidden within the dark expanse of his hair and -

“Uh, don’t move….” Louis begins, leaning forward a little but at the sound of Louis’ voice Harry tilts his head towards him, and suddenly Louis is very aware of how close they actually are. 

He brings a shaking hand up to the long waves that rest against Harry’s temple and plucks his fingers through the strands like how he’d play the guitar. He can hear Harry’s intake of breath, can feel it stutter against the skin of his face as it releases and stops from Harry’s lips and he can feel his eyes bore into his, and when Louis lets weakness win and allows himself to stare into the windows of Harry’s soul well then time seems to stop all together and the only colours that seem to exist in the world are blue and green. It’s just their eyes finding one another and nothing else. 

The soft pads of his fingertips pull out from Harry’s hair and across the sharp jut of his cheekbone, and he can feel Harry’s hand lay against his arm like a dead weight that is suddenly scorching through his jacket. This is what mates do, right? Totally platonic friends who have nothing but mutual respect for one another! Friends look at friends this way all the time. 

Except they don’t. Louis does not stare at Liam like this - he doubts he’s ever had his face this close to Liam’s before or had Liam’s parted lips upturned towards him like he’s waiting for a kiss. 

“You had a bug in your hair” Louis whispers, his chocolate scented breath stirring the hairs around Harry’s face but he doesn’t pull away. He can’t seem to right now because that awfully confused metaphorical compass that is tucked within his chest is furiously pointing its needle towards the _home_ direction and it just so happens that it’s _Harry_ sitting in front of him. 

_You do want me, don’t you Louis?_

_Course I do, Harry. I just got a little lost along the way. Found you now, though, didn’t I?_

_Yeah, you found me._

The haunting memory of his dream swarms his mind then, and somehow it all just makes fucking sense. Every little thing that he’s felt for Harry since he’d met him in the theatres toilets last year seem to lay itself out for him in all its terrifying truth, and it’s all so obvious and even more pronounced and he knows now why he’d avoided him so long, why he had always run away whenever he came over at parties to talk to Liam, how he unsettled Louis so much and how reluctant he was to befriend him. 

How long has he been burying feelings for him? How long has he pushed down this crippling want for him? Too long, a voice in the back of his mind whispers as if it’s begging him to let go and just give in. There’s a hidden part of him that wants to just throw all of his torment to the wind and give in. 

Oh God, Harry’s looking at him like he’s the sun and his lips are so wet and warm looking, and fuck it...Louis really wants to kiss him right now. He grips onto his face just a little tighter, his thumb brushing under his eye and he can feel himself leaning forward ever so slightly despite the fact he can feel claws digging into the sides of his ribs to pull him back. He hears Harry gulp, can see the black in his eyes blown wide and the tip of his tongue darts out to lick across his bottom lip and there’s a knot in Louis’ lower stomach that pulls so tight he feels he might be sick. But then- 

“Harry Styles! Is that you?” 

Louis nearly falls off the bench with how startled he gets - reality throwing itself at him with all the force of a rock and hurtling into his bubble of dreaminess - it shatters like a glass window, spiralling cracks traveling up his mind and destroying whatever semblance of fantasy he had been cocooned in. Harry’s hand shoots out to steady him as he almost sways off his seat, and Louis can’t even throw him a grateful smile because he’s too shocked and confused over what had just happened. Harry is now preoccupied with studying the rather ebullient figure who bounds over to the river's edge in full jogging gear - a rather bright, multi colored windbreaker on with tight black leggings over a pair of long legs. 

“Roman! Hey mate, how’ve you been?” Harry greets with a smile, standing to embrace the very sweaty runner. Louis pretends not to notice how Harry’s legs are now wobbly and unstable. 

“I’m great!” the bright boy announces with a grin “how’s things going with the wedding? Meant to shoot you a text the other day to hang out, but I only got back from London yesterday. Who’s this?” 

“Louis Tomlinson” Louis shoots a hand out before Harry can introduce him as anything that implies something romantic. He can let this Roman guy decide for himself. Louis also tries to hide the fact that his own legs are wobbling and that his hand is trembling as Roman shakes it. 

“Nice to meet you. A friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine! We went to Eton together, grew up here together too whenever Styles decided to stay here for the summer” Roman laughs fondly - he’s rather kind looking, Louis summises, he seems like an infectious sort of person that is great to be around. He also seems like the type of person that is not perturbed by people’s perception of him - if his ridiculously tight and colourful exercise gear is anything to go by “I’m actually glad I caught you, I was going to ring you later” 

“Oh? You alright?” Harry asks his old friend, green eyes growing concerned but Roman just nods his head with a smile. 

“Oh yes, never better. I’m having a small get together tonight at my place, you know just a few of the lads. You’re more than welcome to come, Louis! Zayn’s coming too, and he keeps pestering me to invite you, Harry, says he hasn’t seen you in forever” Roman rolls his eyes as he waves a hand around. 

“Um, yeah alright we’ll be there. That alright with you, Louis?” Harry asks, a pink tinge to his cheeks as he turns his eyes towards him. Louis just dumbly nods for a few seconds before he finds the voice that has momentarily crawled down to the deep crevice of his windpipe. 

“Yeah, sounds fun” he smiles then and Roman claps his hands rather happily, a right twinkle smattering his eyes. 

“Great! I’ll see you lads later then? Say around eight? It’ll be in the old guest house, you know where that is” Roman says to Harry who nods “right, I better get the rest of my mile in before I decide to give up. Chat to you later! Again nice meeting you, Louis!” 

“Nice meeting you too” Louis gets out just before the taller lad bounds away with a friendly smile and a wave, leaving Louis and Harry standing by the rivers edge with an uncomfortable space of awkwardness between them. If Louis was a different sort of man he’d just grab Harry by the front of his coat and pull his body into his to carry on whatever it was that they had been cocooned in before. But he is weak, and scared, so he just shoves his hands back in his pockets and uses the tip of his shoe to disturb the grass and mud. 

“You sure it’s alright to go tonight? Roman’s small get togethers aren’t ever small. There’ll probably be loads of people there. Theo might be there too since he and Roman are friends, I hope that won’t be awkward” Harry mumbles without looking at Louis, instead turning and picking up their empty drink cups to throw in the rubbish bin that rests near the bench. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine, a party sounds like fun actually” Louis tells him truthfully, because hadn’t he wished for a bit of fun while amongst the rich and entitled only last night? Sure this Roman guy had said he’d also gone to Harry’s posh boarding school, but he seems to be their age and is probably just as fond of wild, rambunctious gatherings with excessive amounts of alcohol (well hopefully, Louis muses to himself) “oh and Harry?” 

“Yeah?” Harry sheepishly lifts his head, his teeth chewing the bottom cushion of his lips. 

“Don’t worry about me with Theo, I can handle myself, you know. But are you okay with it? If you’re uncomfortable we don’t have to go. We can stay in and drink more champagne, get stupidly drunk” Louis suggests with a smile, any sense of trepidation burying itself within him. 

“As much as I’d love to, I haven’t seen some of my friends for a while. It might be nice to catch up with them” Harry tells him, letting his eyes lock with Louis’ then in a wondrous glimmer of green “and besides, I’ll have you with me, and I’m alright with that” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is a long one (it's 42 pages on google documents) so strap in! I also apologise for the lateness of this but I've literally worked a 40hour week with no lunch breaks (which is totally illegal but my boss doesn't seem to care) and I've been surviving solely on iced coffee and cigarettes! So I've been totally unmotivated to write so this chapter is probably really crappy and not my best writing but enjoy anyway!

_**What matters is precisely this;** _

_**the unspoken at the edge of the spoken** _

_**\- Virginia Woolf** _

“ _Old_ _guest house_?” Louis questions with a raise of an eyebrow as Harry drives down a winding lane that paves the way towards a modernly designed chunk of grey stone and glass.

The moon is a crescent in the sky tonight, and lends its silvery glow to the front walls of the house that seem to be made entirely of windows, and it bounces off the glittering expanse of glass and causes sharp lines of beaming light to jut out across the darkened lawn. It sits there atop the trimmed blanket of green, just like a contemporary eyesore amongst the timeless surroundings of old stone fencing and primordial trees of thick bark and wispy leaves. It really is a magnificent sight to behold - the house looks like a cut out from some glossy design magazine against the backdrop of the dimming sky. 

These rich youths really have no idea how to describe something, Louis ponders to himself, because not in a million years would he expect something like _this_ to be whittled down to the definition of a _guest house_. Obviously, Roman has no clue about descriptive language. 

Harry just chuckles from the driver seat - his green eyes peering out of his window as he meanders the car around a winding bend of golden gravel, and he shakes his head of glossy curls rather amusedly at Louis’ exclamation. Harry seems completely unperturbed by the sight of this structural monstrosity that is all rectangular shapes with a flat roof, and Louis has to remind himself that this is probably a place Harry has been to many times before. This odd, unveiled world of wealth and carefully constructed features of top notch architecture is just the norm within Harry’s life. 

It just reminds Louis of how gloomy his own menial life is. What a joke he would be if these affluent young adults could see the dismal place he lives in - a flat block with a constantly broken down lift, water damage on the ceilings and paint that peels in chunks whenever the people upstairs walk around too heftily. 

“Gems said she’d pick us up from here later, so whenever you want to go home just tell me, yeah?” Harry says as he pulls up beside a black jeep and Louis nods, some sort of hard lump forming in his stomach. 

Hours ago, while he had been getting ready for this party within the safe blue walls of his bedroom back at the manor house, Louis had actually been quite delighted with the notion of getting deliciously inebriated on whatever expensive alcoholic concoctions Roman would offer. Now however, Louis feels slightly sick at the thought of letting any alcohol pass over his lips. 

He’d consumed fucking _hot chocolate_ earlier for Christ’s sake and he had almost kissed Harry. 

What the hell would volumes of alcohol do to him? 

He’s been mulling over that epiphany for most of the short drive here - while being trapped in the confines of this car that oddly seems too small now that Louis can smell the woodsy scent of Harry’s cologne waft through the air, and feel the tangible electricity bounce around the space between their bodies. He can feel something magnetically soul stirring shift inside his veins like the rush of pure adrenaline, and even here now as he sits in the dark front of Harry’s unmoving car he feels like bursting from his own skin. 

Somehow, his heart feels too big for his body to contain, and he swears he can hear it scream its desire to be released - because deep down he knows it no longer belongs to him. 

He’s not entirely ready to admit to himself that he’s whimsically thrown all of his caution to the wind and the muscle beneath his chest with it - but he can surmise that perhaps his heart is free falling within a colourless sky that seems to be endless. It can continue its dangerous and rather detrimental skydiving, Louis thinks, as long as it comes back to where it’s supposed to be when it’s done. Right now he doesn’t quite fancy allowing himself to feel what he wants to, because he’s afraid of what it will do to the purposeful defensive barriers that cage him. 

He reckons if he admits to himself what he wants, or if he even dares to act on it, then he will be left barely standing - crumbling and desolate like the once grand temples of Ancient Greece that's colossal pillars have cracked and broken beneath the weight of their own grandeur. Except, Louis won’t be broken down by the natural passing of time or by the barraging of weather - but rather under the influence of his own self deprecation. 

He looks at Harry now and smiles tightly, choosing to ignore the almost studiously disappointed look in his green eyes. Louis feels sick to his stomach whenever he so much as fleetingly thinks of the very likely possibility that Harry would have kissed him back if Louis had only been brave enough. Oh, alas! But the world would surely descend into its own detriment if he was to place his lips on Harry's arched pink mouth!

For most of the day, Harry has been looking at Louis curiously from the side of his eye with a downturned pout that had Louis’ very rusty heart strings pulling tightly like a newly tuned guitar. At dinner, while sitting with Anne and Charles in the large dining room of the Styles house, Louis had pushed his food around his plate like a sulking child - except he hadn’t been sulking at all, but had rather been lost in his own web of confused and battering thoughts. 

One side of him is battling with himself to shed this skin of suppression that he’s so horridly worn for most of his teenage (and now young adult) life, and the other more dominant side is reminding him of why he shouldn’t feel like kissing Harry. 

Why he shouldn’t feel like kissing _boys_ at all. 

A sudden flash of a well buried memory snakes its way behind his eyelids, and he almost winces when it surfaces and pollutes the placid pools of his mind with gallons of poisonous recollection. He chokes it down then as he widens his smile at Harry, and tries his hardest to seem nonchalant as he nods his head gratefully. 

“Cool, so shall we then?” he asks Harry - who is sitting there rather dashingly in a dark pink shirt and black jeans, dark hair pushed off his chiselled face and tickling the tops of his collarbones. Whatever little particles of resistance have somehow meandered past Louis’ hard shell of repression, are now finding it extremely hard to stay mute inside of him when Harry is sitting there looking like _that_. 

Not for the first time today he wishes he could be stupidly brave - the sort of person who doesn’t care what people think or someone who doesn’t cage their own desires into a box that’s depth is too cavernous to reach into. 

He wishes he could have been courageous enough to kiss Harry today - just to see what it would feel like. 

“Alright, lets go have some fun, yeah?” Harry smiles rather stiffly, his whole energy completely off balance somehow. Perhaps he’s been thinking about their almost kiss just as much as Louis has, and maybe he’s been contemplating the many possible scenarios that could have arisen from Louis’ lips meeting his own. Perhaps that’s why there’s been an apprehensively tight flicker inside of his eyes today, and why he’s been shifting his body as far away from Louis as he can. 

Maybe Louis had scared him earlier? Maybe Harry didn’t want him like that at all, and all those fond smiles and mushy eye contact that Louis had picked up on had been purely imagined. Perhaps friendship is all Harry wants from him and now Louis has gone and fucked up their growing dynamic by bursting through their bubble of comradery with lingering touches and wanting glances. 

But it doesn’t matter anyway because Louis does _not_ want Harry. At all. Absolutely _not_. Except….maybe he does, and maybe that’s why his heart no longer feels comfortable within his own chest.

He shakes his head then at his own stupidly disorganised brain and deeply confused heart and clambers out of the car and into the stuffy night. The air is thick with stifling heat, particles of leftover sunlight snaking its way through the night's canvas of navy heavens and silvery clouds, and it immediately makes Louis’ short sleeved white button up feel like a woolen blanket. 

His hand aches to wipe the slowly growing perspiration from his forehead, but the softly styled swirl of his hair would be entirely ruined and he really can’t afford to waste the twenty minutes he’d spent in front of the mirror trying to delicately topple it atop his head with the hairdryer. So instead he rubs the back of his hand across it ever so carefully and then wipes the sweat from it off his black skinnies - leaving his perfectly tousled hair alone. 

There’s an incredible din of muted music and wild laughter coming from behind the flawlessly polished windows, and Louis can spy flickers of neon lights bounce across the walls as he and Harry amble towards the house with dull footsteps upon the gravel. It already seems like the party is in full swing, and some annoying bubble of anxiety seems to snake its way up Louis’ throat to clog his airways. He’s always been acceptably sociable (in most situations) but here right now he feels like a kid on their first day of school at the thought of meeting so many of Harry’s old friends. 

“Hey, you okay?” Harry asks Louis then as soon as they’re in front of the large paned door, his hand hovering over the handle and his head cocked to one side as he surveys every tight inch of Louis’ rather screwed up face. He relaxes his anxious expression as soon as Harry’s emerald eyes trace over the worry line between his brows. 

“Yeah, yeah. Fine, mate” Louis nods very decidedly, and with that, Harry’s inquisitiveness seems to dim from his eyes and all investigative worry vanishes from his face. He just nods his head once rather sharply and pushes open the door - the sound of bass music and raucous laughter greeting them like the dull clang of drums at a march. 

It seems that they’re swarmed then by young adults sashaying to and from the rooms of the massive house - all carrying cans or bottles of alcohol and doing a pretty awful job of avoiding spilling the contents onto the shiny wooden floors - and both of them are jostled together within the throng of flailing limbs and swishing hair as they meander through the gathering of people. Despite his obvious shiftiness and desire to ebb away from Louis emotionally, Harry still stays close to him as they both gently elbow their way to a makeshift bar that rests along the corner of one ivory wall, his pink shirt sleeves tickling off of Louis’ bare arm. His green eyes flicker over his shoulder every few seconds as if he’s checking that Louis is still there or that he hasn’t been swept away within the assemblage of guests. 

Apparently, Roman has no clue about numerical assumptions - because what he had described earlier as a small gathering is anything but the sort. Louis would guess that there are currently sixty or more people packed into the open plan living room (and that’s not including the people he can see dance on the upstairs balcony or the ones who are running wild in the back garden) and for a while he feels like they’ll never make their way out of this jungle of tanned, sweaty limbs and permeated ether of Chanel perfume. 

But eventually, after becoming brave enough to place his hand on Harry’s back to guide him along a little, they stumble out of the gaggle of dancing party goers and come out the other end just a little bit sweatier, and very grateful to see the bar top that is lined with drinks. 

But a shout from the corner of the room gets their attention, and standing by a pool table that rests in front of a couch, is the host himself - tall and eccentrically cool in a tie dye t-shirt, with a hugely genuine smile on his face. 

“Harry! Louis! Come say hi!” Roman waves them over with one large hand while the other rather sloppily holds a bottle of beer. Louis can’t help but smirk at his obvious inebriation which becomes even more apparent when they’re standing next to him and the pervading scent of a brewery clings to his every pore. 

“Hey, mate!” Harry greets cheerfully, but the smile on his face is tight and those wondrous eyes of his are eyeing Roman’s beer with sheer hopefulness - his apparent desire to consume alcohol causes something to coil horridly in the depths of Louis’ stomach. 

“Glad you boys could make it” Roman burps a little after a swig from his beer but his dopey smile is genuine, and so is the amiable twinkle in the blue of his eyes “Louis, I want you to feel welcome so help yourself to whatever you want, also I must warn you the lads are very eager to meet you. We were a little surprised to find out Harry had brought home his fancy man and never told us!” 

“Word travels fast, I see” Harry mumbles rather darkly, lips pouted and arms folded over the open front of his magenta shirt. 

Louis can’t help but feel a nervous prickle descend all over his body at the slightly jarring thought that all these people so easily accept something that isn’t true at all. Sure, Louis knows the purpose of his presence here is for that intention alone, but the reality of all these eyes on him and Harry that view them as a couple is stirring within him a silent disquietude of the soul. It’s unnerving that perhaps Louis doesn’t mind the assumption anymore - rather he can’t even find it within himself to be discomforted by it. 

“Well you know how it is. Poppy was talking to Mum the other day, mentioned you brought your boyfriend here and you know my Mum can’t quite keep her mouth shut” Roman laughs, running a hand through perfectly highlighted locks of gold and an equally perfect eyebrow quirks into a raise. From beside him, Harry makes a sort of gruff snort that is perhaps in agreement to Roman’s statement of his mother being a gossip and Louis can’t keep the small, tight smile off his face at Harry’s endearing irritation. It’s rather obvious that the displeased look on Harry’s face has been put there because of his distaste towards being the topic of nattering conversation. Louis doesn’t much enjoy the thought of being talked about without having control of peoples narrative either, so he can sympathise with Harry’s vexatious glower. 

“Also didn’t want to assume anything earlier, but I did interrupt a rather romantic moment so it was safe to think you were the mystery man, Louis” Roman giggles with a sharp nudge of his elbow into the soft part of Louis’ chest. Louis doesn’t think he meant it to be quite so hard, but his words are what rattles him more. 

The memory of how he’d sat on the park bench with Harry and almost kissed him comes swimming back to the forefront of his mind like the barraging pelt of snow. It tingles his mind as it forms behind his eyes like the pricking of tiny needles, and there it freezes permanently like the candid snapshot of a polaroid.

The memory has laid within his head all day, floating absently like some haunting impression of a half formed semblance of recollection - he’s grappled with the reality of it ever since they’d sat on the park bench, and has replayed the scene in his head over and over. Throughout the day, he has wondered if he has been remembering it wrong - that perhaps it hadn’t been as intense or as wanton as he’d imagined it - but Roman’s words have just shattered right through any piece of doubt that has lingered in his mind. 

Maybe he and Harry just really do look like a couple. He tries to bury his own vivid evocation beneath layers of purposeful darkness then when he thinks that. He fails - _miserably_. 

“Anyway, where’s Zayn? Don’t see him” Harry decides to cut through the awkward tension then, his eyes skipping over the heads of the congregating dancers that crowd the living room and his voice rising higher over the beat of some awful mid nineties remix that makes Louis’ immaculate musical taste cringe from within him. 

“Oh, he wandered off earlier for a smoke. I’d say about ten minutes ago, just before you got here” Roman fills in with a blasé wave of his hand - but then, as quickly as a flash of lightning thrusts from within a dusty sky of dull blue, a flicker of something like excitement seems to stir in his eyes - and then any equivalence of peace that Louis had been collecting inside himself crumbles when Roman speaks next “Theo, mate! Hey, over here!” 

Cold, frigid dread seems to seep into his bones then like how rainwater permeates through your skin when you stand under the battering heavens for too long. Louis feels like a wet rag that’s been discarded on the floor - useless and a little menial. Yet, despite his own leaden self consciousness that is taking over his sense at the mere presence of Harry’s past lover - he can feel his own intuition towards Harry heighten when he feels him stiffen from beside him. Suddenly, the small distance between them seems to be bridged and Louis can feel Harry’s warm body press to his side when the shadow of a tall Italian boy graces their vision. 

He gazes at him then with concerned eyes of ocean blue, and from within the shadow of dimming sky that curtains outside the windows and flickering neon lights that bounce off the walls, he can see the tightness in Harry’s jaw and the nervous way his teeth chew his bottom lip. Without a seconds thought, his own needy and tactile fingers reach for Harry’s ringed ones that are now drumming nervously against his thigh. His green eyes jump towards Louis’ then with all the surprise of a wondrous child on Christmas morning, and his chewed on lip twitches into a smile. 

Louis can feel that awfully obvious muscle beneath his chest rattle inside of him like an uneasy prisoner, and he can’t help but want to smile back at Harry over the simple fact that no matter what has been happening with them today (all of that built up awkwardness and fleeting glances of worry) that they somehow know the others inner workings. That perhaps now they can sense the others discomfort, and maybe they alone are the key to making it better. Louis (although he can not yet admit it fully to himself) feels that perhaps he has some sort of emotional connection with this curly haired, tattooed boy and that he can somehow anchor him in this room of loud noises and beaming dance lights and awfully crude exes. 

“You okay?” Louis whispers to him, winding his fingers tighter through Harry’s and letting his other hand clasp against the bare skin of Harry’s forearm - his fingers ghosting over the petals of a well inked rose. 

It hits him then that he’s not latching onto Harry for the sake of some comical act of romance - to convince their small gaggle of an audience to buy into this farce where they are some loved up couple - but rather that he just wants to touch, to _comfort_ him somehow. It unsettles the great looming beast of repression that claws his insides. 

Harry just nods to him in response then, his willowy body languidly sagging against Louis’ like how a leafy branch of cherry blossoms breezily bows within the summer air. His eyes leave Louis’ face then, and all soft light is momentarily banished from the emerald pools as he sets them on Theo. 

He stands there, as pompously sure of himself as ever, hazel eyes burning like melted bronze and full lips jutted out in an almost snarl as he ever so lazily looks down at Louis. Despite his air of superiority that oozes out of him like smoke, a shifting tight flicker of something uneasy casts itself across his face when his eyes land on Louis’ hand that is intertwined with Harry’s - but the look is gone as quickly as it had come. 

“Hello, boys!” Chelsea - who clings onto Theo like a lifeline - shoots them a friendly grin and a little wave, a string of heavy looking gold bracelets sliding down her arm. 

Louis can’t help but feel tremendously sorry for her because of the fact that she’s dating probably the biggest prick he’s ever met when she herself is so lovely. She’s beaming at him genuinely, some sort of horridly obvious apology swimming in her eyes (Louis can’t tell whether she’s apologising for the other night, or whatever is about to come) and Louis shoots her a welcoming smile back. Bless her, he thinks to himself, such a pretty young girl wasting her life on some lad who secretly likes men. Such a shame. But a sharp stab dully rips apart his heart then as Christina’s face swims towards his mind, and he nearly feels sick at the thought of how his own tormented soul is probably drifting through the swampy depths of suppression parallel to Theo’s. 

His hand slips within Harry’s, but before it can fall away completely, strong fingers grip onto him tighter and somehow all bad thoughts turn cloudy and incoherent in his mind. With Harry around it seems that his own barraging dimented thoughts are either roaring with life or quietened to a gentle soulfulness that his heart so readily accepts. He can either rouse him or calm him - and he seems to be the only one that walks beneath the moon to be able to. 

He’ll let that thought terrify him later when he is tucked beneath bed sheets beside Harry - right now he’s too busy feeling miniscule under Theo’s uncouth glare. 

“Louis, this is my good friend Theo, and his lovely fiance Chelsea” Roman waves a hand between them, voice slightly raising over the thrum of music. 

“I know who he is. We’ve already met” Theo drawls, the trombone of his voice dripping with a cadence that is utterly flagrant. 

“Oh, how wonderful! Everyone knows each other then, that’s splendid!” Roman genially beams, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement at the thought that perhaps everyone will become wonderful friends and possibly sit around holding hands and singing by the fireside (Louis wants to scoff at the image that rises in his head then) “Well then, I’m sure Harry’s filled you in about all the things he and Theo used to get up to, hmm?” 

Louis can feel the stiff rigidness of Harry’s body then - anxiety rolling off him and tangling itself inside Louis’ veins - and when it becomes clear that no one is going to answer, Roman takes a swig of his drink and begins to ramble on. 

“Oh you know Louis, these two used to get up to all sorts of mischief at Eton. They once let off a stink bomb during an exam, and snuck out almost every night to cause trouble!” Roman laughs while shaking his head “we had such fun there, didn’t we boys? Great memories” 

“Yeah, what wonderful memories” Harry mumbles rather bitterly and Louis’ fingers seem to press against the dusty grey petals of the inked rose that rests on Harry’s arm in reassurance, and somehow the sigh that leaves the cushions of his plump lips is not laced with any harshness. Rather a wispy sort of sound that seems to settle itself within Louis’ bones and flutter his heart. 

“I’d love to hear more of these stories!” Chelsea chirps happily, dark eyes twinkling with adoration as she looks up at Theo’s chiseled face - he brings a hand to smooth down non-existent wrinkles in his dark navy shirt out of some sort of well buried trepidation “you never tell me about your school days, and I’d love to hear it” 

“Oh well, Harry and I have plenty of stories to tell you about Theo” Roman chuckles over the sounds of the Spice Girls (Louis’ leg twitches involuntarily with the desire to dance to Wannabe, but he refrains) “don’t we, mate?” 

“Oh yeah, plenty” Harry smiles tightly - his mind probably running wild with the desire to tell Chelsea one _particular_ story that he has kept hidden within. There’s something in his green eyes that looks so boundlessly sad as he lets them flicker to Theo’s face - and just the sheer ache in them makes Louis’ heart break a little. 

“Let’s go sit with the boys. They've been looking forward to seeing you” Roman nods his head towards a loud foursome in the corner that consists of well dressed lads that all hold pints of beer and have thick cigars hanging from their mouths. Niall Horan would fit right in with them, Louis thinks to himself, almost smiling at the thought as he and Harry walk hand in hand towards them. 

_The_ _boys_ turn out to be another lot of Harry’s old Eton classmates, and all have much the same jaunty expressions and eloquent accents, and wave their cigars around with entitled superiority that would cause to annoy Louis if they weren’t so boring. He supposes he can’t hate them for their wealth and opulence too much when they are as stiffly dull as drying paint, and he feels sorry for ever thinking someone as ebullient as Niall would ever click with their awfully tedious personalities. Their loudness and general exuberance seems to make up for the fact that the only topic of conversation they can maintain is old time stories of attending a posh boarding school or talking about their rather fortunately inherited careers within family companies. Louis pretends to be interested - nodding his head at appropriate times or smiling tightly whenever one of them laughs while recounting a not so funny tale. 

All he can seem to focus on is how Theo sits across from him on another plush couch with eyes that seem to burn holes in his skin. He’s caught him staring at Harry many times too, and Louis can’t help the cold feeling in the bottom of his stomach whenever he notices Harry letting his eyes skip across to forlornly gaze at him. 

Chelsea sits perched on her fiance's knee, pretty in a blue dress and lovingly adoring with utter infatuation tinkling in her winged eyes. She plays with his hair and lets the pads of her fingers trace over the sharp jut of his jaw, and Louis hates to admit it but Theo looks rather soft under her touch - like perhaps he really is just a regular guy who can _love_ and _feel_ when he’s not busy making his ex's current _boyfriend_ feel like an insect that should be stepped on. He laughs into her ear when one of the lads (Rory, is it? Or is it Cory?) tells a story about some secret party they had all snuck out to one night, everyone finding it funny when he tells the part about how Theo fell from the roof and into the rose bushes right outside the Headmaster's office. Louis watches as his normally austere looking eyes crinkle with something akin to adoration as he looks at her, his lips puckering for a kiss that she gives him with a giggle. 

He’s reminded then of something Harry had said to him that night at the hotel - the night that he supposes had started this whole thing. 

_“Theo was always more uncomfortable about who he was. I mean he liked girls too but I guess he just wasn’t happy with the side of himself that liked men….”_

Maybe Theo really does love Chelsea, and maybe he is happy with her. 

Some sort of carnal jealousy licks a stripe of white hot rage inside of him then at the thought that Theo had Harry - got to touch him and make love to him, kiss him under the stars and run his hands freely through his thick mop of curls - and now gets to be genuinely happy with someone else. 

How easy it is for him since he doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to feel guilty about stringing a girl along while his own real desires eat away at him from the inside out. He doesn’t have to wake up everyday mentally preparing himself to go through life while playing the farce of someone with over rehearsed masculinity, or constantly berating himself for even looking at a boy twice. 

Theo surely doesn’t have to do any of that - not when he looks so genuinely in love with the girl that is sat on his knee, his long fingers tracing comforting patterns onto her slim waist and playing with the ends of her brown hair. Louis has never been like that with Christina, but has rather distanced himself from her as much as can be allowed while being someone’s boyfriend. He’s never reached for her hand, or comforted her when he feels like she’s anxious, he has never laid awake at night tracing over her features and wishing that he could kiss over every inch of her skin. 

He really had been someone’s boyfriend once - and as he sits here now he’s struck dumb by the thought that he’s here _pretending_ to be Harry’s, and he’s doing a more convincing job than when he’d actually been dating Tina. 

“I’m going to get a drink” he announces then, quietly as he leans away from Harry’s side “you want anything?”

“Hey, I’ll come with you. God knows I’ve heard all these stories too many times, and you know, I actually did _live_ through them” Harry says with an endearing smile on his face that causes his dimples to pop up. He’s a little drunk already (Roman had kept topping off the dwindling liquid in his glass with vodka) and his green eyes are electric and almost swallowed up by a hazy sort of inebriation, and Louis can’t help but think he looks incredibly...cute. Sitting there in his pink shirt with flushed cheeks the same colour and lips that are wet and pouty, he certainly looks the picture of loveliness. 

“Come on then, babe” Louis says loudly to catch the attention of a certain dour looking distillery heir, who now studies them with curious eyes. Harry takes Louis’ outstretched hand with a sloppy smile on his face, and stands on legs that wobble like a newborn deer. 

“ _Babe_?” Harry whispers into his ear with a giggle as Louis leads them from the crowded couch area - the loudness of the others conversation blending into the noise around them as they get further away - and Louis shivers a little at the feel of Harry’s hot breath tickling his skin. 

Whatever awkwardness had settled itself between them earlier today has seemed to vanish with the presence of the Smirnoff that now flushes itself within Harry's veins. 

“I don’t know. Seemed to sell everything nicely, don’t you think?” Louis just shrugs in an attempt to seem nonchalant, but the blooming blush on his cheeks tells a different side of the story - one where he’s too far gone for the boy who has his hand in his. 

“I like it” Harry sighs almost dreamily as they stop to lean against a high table set out with bottles and cans of drink, and spilt plastic cups that now float in small puddles of champagne or rum. The smell hits Louis as strikingly as if he’d stepped into a brewery, and it’s the same sort of tangible scent that clings to Harry’s breath. 

_I like calling you it_ , Louis would like to say, but he looks away from him then as he plucks a bottle of fizzy orange stuff from the table. The percentage of alcohol is zero, which he is entirely grateful for because he hasn’t touched a drop of anything that could get him drunk tonight. He really can’t trust himself right now. 

“Well then, _babe_ , what would you like to drink?” Louis teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows - hoping that playful banter can replace the trepid sense of anxiousness that is bubbling up inside of him. Harry just smiles back almost cheekily and reaches towards a vodka bottle that is half empty.

They seem to forget the gaggle of Harry’s old friends then because they stay tucked within the corner of the bar, Harry sitting on one of the tall stools, swinging his legs as he and Louis talk about things that actually genuinely make him laugh. Harry just gets more and more tipsy, and Louis quite delights at how endearing he gets when he’s drunk and how easy his movements are and how wide his pupils get - dark black swallowing up the forest green. He can look him in the eye more easily now that he supposes he’s too drunk to remember how Louis had almost kissed him earlier (well Louis hopes he has forgotten) but it doesn’t stop the rolling waves of want course through him. He aches to push it down, or to drown his thoughts underneath the bitter tang of vodka but he knows if he becomes more fluid and carefree that he might just give into the urges that are threatening to kill him. 

Those incessant desires do not scatter from the clinging pockets of his soul however much he wishes them to be gone, and they certainly do not disappear when Harry jumps from his stool and declares they play a game of darts. Rather they prove to be more prominent than ever. 

The dart board rests against the wall behind the pool table, wide and circular with slim triangles pointing towards the bullseye and one of Louis’ fingers prods the sharp end of the dart he holds as Harry once again throws his at his desired target. He may be drunk, but apparently his competitiveness and accuracy at the game does not relent when paired with alcohol. They’ve been at it about ten minutes now and Louis has not hit one of his targets (he’d gotten a dart stuck in the wall beside the board and now a very obvious piece of plaster is chipped from the ivory paint. He just hopes Roman doesn’t notice) but Harry finds his failures to be hilarious - laughing each time Louis’ face falls with petulance. 

“Of course _you’re_ brilliant at it” Louis glowers when Harry giggles yet again after he fails another time- the dart missiling through the air to just fall flatly to the ground after it barely clings to the board “you probably had a dart board in your oh so posh boarding school dormitory. Bet you kept it next to the chess table, or the cricket bats” 

“Oh don’t be so stereotypical, Louis!” Harry giggles, green eyes rolling as he concentrates on throwing the dart back and lurching it forward - it hits the bullseye. Of _course_ it does “and just imagine the board as someone or something you hate. You’ll probably hit it everytime. Back at school we had a picture of our Math teacher stuck to it” 

“Don’t suppose you have any pictures of my father lying around?” Louis mutters darkly, his lips pursing and his eyes narrowing as he glowers down at the darts he holds in his hands. He supposes he’d hit the bullseye each time if he was aiming at his dad’s face. God knows he’d love to stick a dart right between his stormy eyes. 

“Hey, come here. I’ll show you how to do it” Harry offers then, placing his own darts down atop the pool table and bridging the few steps between him and Louis with endearingly clumsy footfalls that are leaden with the alcohol he’s drunk tonight. 

Louis’ protest gets stuck in his throat like a lump of quickly hardening concrete as he feels a large hand wrap around his waist, and before his heart even has time to regain its normal rhythm he feels his back pressed to Harry’s chest, and all he can do is mutely wither inside himself. 

Harry’s fingers that are adorned with bands of silver come to trace down Louis’ hand that is clenched ever so tightly around the bunch of darts, and as he takes it in his own to pluck them gently from his prying grasp it seems that his lungs forget their function. All useful oxygen inside of him seems to be replaced with something he now starts to choke on - but he can’t do much but stand here dumbly as he feels Harry’s hot breath tremble against the underside of his jaw like a haunting kiss from a ghost.

The hand that isn’t wrapped around Louis’ - the one that is adorned with a nautical anchor - is now placed on Louis’ fluttering stomach, palm pressed into the hard, fleshy mound beneath his shirt and fingers splayed out towards his waist. Everything seems really dull compared to the feel of Harry’s body against his own, and the thrum of music and the general loudness of the party seems to vanish in his ears. All sounds around him seem to mute into one blur that sounds like the ocean crashing against rocks - barraging but indistinguishable - or maybe that’s just the sound of his heart banging against his chest. 

“Right, so you just need to focus on your target, yeah? Just keep it in your eyeline and you can’t go wrong” Harry says into his ear, and Louis blinks slowly once...twice...three times before his senses come back to him. Right, _darts_. That is what they are supposed to be doing. Louis had almost forgotten the purpose of his existence there for a minute - but he would gladly choose to not exist alongside Harry. Perhaps they could slip into a state of reality where they could forget the world as one - just merely live within a bubble of pure and utter ignorance to everything else except the feel of each other's skin. 

Okay, Louis, _focus_! 

“That’s a little easier said than done, don’t you think, Harold?” Louis tries to tease but his voice is slightly shaky and holds within it a tittering nervousness that chirps like a bird. 

“Maybe, but you’ll get it after a few tries” Harry chuckles, the deep timbre of his laughter rumbling against the shell of Louis’ ear and reverberating somewhere deep down inside him where his heart beats. He’d very much like to swallow Harry’s laughter and let it rest inside his chest where it can stay there and bloom flowers. 

Strong fingers - the same fingers that can ever so masterfully caress the keys of the piano - come to wrap around Louis’ slim wrist to draw it back and then with a force that is gentle yet stirring enough to cause Harry’s hips to push ever so slightly against Louis - he hurls their hands forward. The dart spins in the air, the blue feathered end of it twirling like the wings of a moth and it lands with a thud against the number three at the bottom of the board. 

“I think I need another try, yeah?” Louis tilts his head to look at Harry - secretly delighting in how he hasn’t let him go just yet - and those marvelous eyes look back at him with a hidden smile colouring the jade green. 

He’s well aware that there’s no need for Harry to be holding him so closely just to show him how to play darts - it’s not a highly confusing activity of any sort, a simple demonstration would have sufficed but there’s a part of him that really does not want to complain. Who knows when he’ll be held like this again by this beautiful boy? Probably never, and not while Harry is sober. Right now he’s deliciously drunk and his eyes keep flitting towards Theo who keeps sneakily watching them from where he rests perched on the couch - and Louis guesses he’s probably only doing this to make Theo jealous. 

He almost bitterly laughs aloud at himself for being so naive and stupid. Of course Harry is holding him like this to make Theo envious - isn’t that why he’d asked Louis to be his wedding date in the first place? Why would Louis even consider the thought that Harry would want Louis in any other way than friendship when he is so obviously still in love with his past flame? Why would Louis himself even want Harry’s arms around him? 

He pulls away then with a lurch, something nefarious coiling inside of him to crawl up his throat and choke him. He hurriedly drops the darts onto the pool table beside them and steps fully away from Harry - a confused look on his drunk face - and Louis runs a hand through his sweaty hair (now not caring about its style) in an attempt to act unruffled, while inside he’s churning with all sorts of thoughts and emotions. 

“Um, I’m gonna use the bathroom!” Louis almost sing-songs out of nervousness “I’ll be back in a minute, yeah? Wait here for me, curly” 

“Okay, yeah” Harry smiles, any doubtful anxiety vanishing from his face at the sound of the promise within Louis’ voice. He spins around then, and hurriedly elbows his way out of the living room and towards the large staircase that ascends at a steep jut of polished wood. There’s a few couples snogging against the glass banister and Louis tries not to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the sheer display of youthful lust as he walks on wobbly legs up the steps. 

He has no idea where he’s going of course, he’s never been to this house that looks like it’s been solely decorated by a Nordic modernist, but he needs to get away from Harry for a minute and all his drunk touchiness. He’s been too perturbed by Harry today - too unsettled within himself at the very presence of him and right now he feels slightly dizzy with the memory of how his chest had felt pressed to his back, how the skin of his fingers had left fiery trails on his arm and how the cradle of his hips fit perfectly against Louis’ backside and…

He needs air. _Now_. 

He stumbles upon a balcony then that is nestled between the landing - large open doors leading out to the dark night and his feet nearly trip over themselves as he rushes towards it, and his hands tremble to retrieve the box of Marlboro’s from his pocket. 

The eleven o’clock breeze is wispy and cold, and between the pockets of gusting air lies the promise of rain, but Louis gulps it up like how he would water in a desert. He lets it rush under his thin shirt and freeze his burning skin right down to a normal body temperature, and he wishes the wind had the power to rid memories from one’s head with its bluster. 

But what memories he would like to be rid of is the question that proves to stifle him. Perhaps he wouldn’t want memories of Harry to be blown away, but rather the desperately altering ones of his father. Without his looming presence always crowding his mind he knows his life would surely be easier. His hand shakes then as he brings a cigarette to his lips, and panic begins to ebb within him when he can’t find his lighter and he begins to think that a nicotine buzz will have to wait. 

“Need a light?” 

The voice makes him jump where he stands, and he whips his head to the side to see a figure emerge from the dark corner of the balcony. He hadn’t even known he wasn’t alone out here, but he can only seem to be grateful for this stranger's presence when he hands him a red lighter. 

“Thanks, mate. Thought I was going to die there for a second” Louis huffs out as he shoves the butt of the cigarette in his mouth and lights it swiftly. His hands are still trembling with the memory of Harry’s arms around him. 

“You do look a little troubled there, mate. You alright?” the stranger asks him, and this time when Louis hands him back his lighter he really looks at him through the dark shadow of nightfall. 

He’s strikingly good looking - that’s the first thing Louis notices and the luring entity within his mind can accept that thought because it’s so glaringly obvious that even the boundlessly suppressed part of himself can’t deny it. He’s like a glint of gold against the backdrop of obsidian sky - smooth, caramel skin glinting like honey and eyes as dark as Louis’ soul seem to spill like espresso shots from under thick rows of eyelashes. His hair seems to blend into the expression of night time and one stray piece flickers over a brooding eye and dances along the expanse of a well made nose. He’s clad in all black, tight pants fitted perfectly around thin legs and a dark turtleneck jumper fits his slender frame snugly, and Louis is reminded of all those fashion spreads one might see in an overpriced magazine. 

“I’m fine, just needed some air. It’s pretty crowded in there” Louis says after inhaling a rather long drag of smoke into his lungs, his free hand jerking over his shoulder to gesture towards the party that is still in full swing downstairs. The stranger lights up a cigarette of his own - a long brown stick with an emblazoned crest on the gold butt - and the amber ashes that lick at the tip seem to dance within the darkness of his eyes. 

“That’s why I’m up here too, I came here a while ago to get some air. Haven’t gone back down since. I hate parties” this model of a stranger says, expressionless face staring out at the black void that is only lit up by the far away muteness of the moon that is half hidden behind the silvery wisp of passing clouds. 

“Yeah, tell me about it” Louis mutters glumly, flicking cigarette ash into the ether. 

“I’m Zayn, by the way. Zayn Malik” the stranger points out with a wave of his smoke, something bored lacing in his tone like he’s introduced himself many times before to deaf ears. 

“I’m Louis Tomlinson” Louis points to himself “I heard Roman mention you earlier actually” 

“Pretty surprised he remembered me” Zayn comments with a dark glower, something miserable twisting his mouth at the corners “he seems to forget when he’s with his Eton friends. I can’t stand most of them you know, they’re all too entitled for my taste and I especially hate how Ro always wants to impress them” 

“Oh are you guys like….dating then?” Louis asks rather timidly, not wanting to make assumptions but also knowing that Zayn’s level of irritation seems to suggest something more than cordiality. 

“You should ask him that, I’d rather like to hear his answer. I think he forgets we're together when he's caught up with everyone else's attention” Zayn laughs, the sound edging on miserableness “all I know is that I keep being pushed aside tonight. I should want to say it to him but then I don't because I'm an idiot. I don't even know why I keep accepting being second best when I'm around all of his friends. Anyway, don’t mind me. I’m drunk and bitter” 

“Oh no, it’s fine. Really” Louis waves him off, deciding that he actually rather likes this Zayn fellow despite the fact he’s only just met him and only spoken about three sentences to him so far. But still, there seems to be some sort of mysterious classicism to his nature that is alluringly splendid “I kind of get it, actually” 

“You do?” Zayn tilts his head, and that stray curl that probably isn’t all that lost but rather purposely styled to fall over his dreamy eyes tickles the mound of his cheek as he does. 

“Well I guess I can understand how it feels to not know why you keep doing something or _feeling_ something. I feel like that all the time, I just don’t know why I keep running away from it” Louis declares then after sharply sucking in a burnt cloud of smoke into his lungs. 

“Well, if it feels right then there’s no need to run away from something, you know? You don’t ever run away from a sunset do you? You wonder at it” Zayn rambles, and suddenly Louis’ nose flares with the sour tinge of weed that seems to cling to the thick material of Zayn’s turtleneck. Zayn is fucking stoned right now. How wonderful. Why is it always Louis that gets lumped with the stoners who are in the middle of existential periods of thought? But he can surmise that perhaps he’s right - maybe Louis shouldn’t run away from something that feels right - and being held by Harry had felt _right_. He can feel the comfortable adoration ache to settle itself inside him, but he just keeps trying to push it away when he knows he shouldn’t.

“That’s how I feel about Roman, you know. It’s right and I know it is, I just wish he wasn’t so caught up with those idiotic friends of his” Zayn sighs then, a tanned hand coming to cup his face as he leans an elbow on the balcony’s railing “so, Louis? Who’s your sunset then? Who’re you here with?” 

What does he say? _My friend, Harry? My boyfriend, Harry?_ Is he supposed to be selling this lie to every soul he meets or can he just tell the truth because it’s not Zayn that he’s come to Berkshire to torment?

But before he can answer a familiar voice joins in with the soft whistling of the night wind. 

“Louis, there you are, I thought you got lost or something. Oh my god, hey Zayn!” It's Harry, who now bounds onto the balcony with twinkling green eyes and a genuine smile that carves onto his face, and Louis’ stomach seems to do a flip as he watches the open front of his shirt delicately flutter with the breeze. Two swallows peak out from under his collarbones with mischievous looks of knowing in their inked eyes, and Louis looks quickly away then. 

“Harry, mate! Good to see you!” Zayn greets, but still his placid face remains somewhat expressionless like some forever immortalised painting. Perhaps he’d crack if he so much as smiles too widely - his beauty mottling like a fresco. Or maybe his own inner troubles have him so devoid of pure happiness tonight. 

“Yeah, I was looking for you earlier. Roman didn’t really know where you were, you guys fighting again?” Harry asks, his voice a little slurred and his arm ever so lazily wraps around Louis’ shoulders to pull him close. Louis nearly balks aloud at the sudden contact and he can’t help but notice some sort of possessive flash flitter within his eyes as he nearly wedges himself into the small space between Louis and Zayn. 

“Not fighting exactly, no. I just had to get away for some peace, I can only listen to Cory go on about polo for so long” Zayn rolls his eyes “and Ro doesn’t seem to want to spend any time with me” 

“Oh come on, Roman’s drunk and you now how he gets when he is. He’d never not want to spend time with you” Harry assures his friend with a nudge to the shoulder, but the other lad just bristles where he stands and takes a drag from his cigarette. 

“So Louis is your lad then?” Zayn asks with a nod towards how Harry is holding Louis against him, and how Louis’ traitorous body is leaned against Harry’s like it was made to fit under the crook of his arm. 

“Yes, he’s mine” is Harry’s rather strong answer and Louis feels his heart stutter in his chest at the declaration. Clearly it’s all for show, yet it still stirs something inside him that makes a deep red blush scatter itself on his cheeks. 

Zayn is the sort of guy who reminds Louis of the carved marble statues of Roman Emperors, smooth skin unmarked by blemishes and an almost permanent look of iciness on his face. Unemotional. Unmoving. But his eyes, my word they are expressive - trickling gold like the shimmering treasures that are buried within the once untouched crypt of a Pharaoh's tomb. Those eyes seem to hold within them all of his emotions, and Louis can see them clearly now as he flicks them to the arm that Harry has wrapped around Louis’ shoulders. Those eyes light up with a spark now that is oddly fond, and perhaps Louis’ eyes are deceiving him but he thinks he can see the corner of a pink lip turn up into a smile. 

“Well then, I must say I’m pleased to meet you even more now since I know you’re Harry’s boyfriend” Zayn nods his head to Louis “I’ve only known you for about two minutes but you seem like a nice lad” 

“He’s the best, now let’s go inside and have a drink together, yeah? It’s bloody freezing out here” Harry nearly whines with a delicate pout and Zayn nods his head in agreement - rather happy to have a catch up with an old mate. He wanders back towards the house first, his dark frame of black clothes and smoky eyelashes disappearing behind the balconies door with Harry following close behind. 

He turns then when he notices Louis hasn’t moved an inch - rather stuck to the spot once again at the baffling notion of how he turns to an utter mute whenever Harry so much as touches him and having his arm around him a moment ago is doing horrid things to his mind and body. He just smiles then, drunkenly and wondrously, and extends a large hand to him. 

“Come on then, babe” he repeats Louis’ earlier words with a smirk, and there is something in his green eyes that makes Louis grab his hand without a second's hesitation.

* * *

The rest of the night passes in one big blur of competitive rounds of darts and pool, drinking games that Louis does not partake in but rather watches and laughs along to, sweaty dances in the cramped living room and deep conversations with Zayn. 

The emotive, carved man of marble seems to loosen up throughout the night when the conspiratorial edge of cannabis seems to whittle away and the agreeable allure of vodka settles him into something much more life like. Or perhaps the delightfully happy boy in the tie dye t-shirt that falls onto his lap sometime during the night is what makes him genuinely smile - deep wrinkles appearing near his eyes when he does. Louis can’t help but look at Roman and Zayn with a little spark of want budding inside his chest. 

While they giggle into each other's ears and steal kisses, Louis can’t help but keep his eyes on where Harry now stands with Cory, Oscar and Theo at the pool table - a long pool cue in his hands and a determined look on his face. He’s gotten more sober as the night has gone on, and right now it’s nearing one in the morning and he’s still a little jittery and clumsy, but his eyes are sharper and more alert. 

They lock onto him now, the wild brilliance of them finding Louis’ from across the room and settling with them in a comfortable hold that Louis can’t break away from. He’s so wonderfully magnetic, and so very beautiful and Louis wishes he could just stare at him forever without feeling slightly unsettled by his desire to do so. Roman and Zayn seem so comfortable with one another, and he wishes that he had both their unabashed courage inside of him.

Harry looks away from him then when Chelsea saunters over to the pool table, a drink in her hands that she hands Theo. The tall, auburn haired boy smiles at her and leans into her for a kiss - an action that seems to sour Harry’s face and Louis notices how his hand tightens around his pool cue. 

“Earth to Louis!” he hears then and the voice makes his eyes snap back to the loved up couple on the couch and far away from Harry “did you hear what we were asking or were you too busy staring at Harry?” 

“Uh, sorry. Didn’t hear you” Louis answers Roman with a blush “what were you saying?” 

“We asked if you wanted to hang out, maybe tomorrow night? It won’t be anything like this, I promise. Just a few lads” Roman explains then “we’ll do something fun, yeah? Smoke a few blunts, get wasted. The usual” 

“Yeah, alright. I’ll say it to Harry, but I’m sure he’ll agree” Louis nods then with a smile, not sure if he really wants to throw himself into Roman’s _usual_ antics. God knows he’s tried to stay away from drugs and alcohol tonight in fears of it letting his inhibitions run away with him - how will he survive another night of glaring temptation?

“Great! Now, I’m going to get another drink, you boys want anything?” he asks before sliding himself off of Zayn’s lap. Both of them shake their heads in polite decline, and then Roman disappears into the near distance that thrums with the voice of Cascada. 

Zayn’s eyes that are framed with almost fake looking eyelashes now study Louis with some sort of ruminative shadow inking up the blackness, and Louis shifts on the couch under his gaze. It seems he’s back to being that emotive entity now with that alluring stare of his. 

“You’ll come tomorrow night? It’ll probably be just some dinner and drinks at my place, nothing too wild. But I haven’t seen Harry in forever and I’d like to get to know you better, Louis” Zayn tells him with a slight tilt to his head “and Theo won’t be invited, by the way”

“Well don’t know why that would concern me!” Louis almost nervously titters, his fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his white shirt but Zayn just looks bored with his attempt at pretending. 

“I’m not going to sit here and pretend I never thought something went on between those two. I didn’t go to school with them but we’ve all known each other since we were young, and I always thought that something happened with them or maybe they _wanted_ something to happen” Zayn explains then, his words uncomfortably shifting around Louis’ brain “I’d never embarrass Harry by asking him. I figure if he wants us to know what happened then he’d tell us, but I can see the way you look at Theo. You don’t like him” 

“He’s a right sort, isn’t he? I think he’s the biggest twat I’ve ever met” Louis grumbles, his eyes darkly glowering at the tall shadow of Harry’s ex that rests in the distance, and he can’t help but feel an envious tinge of something carnal pull in his stomach at how the boy’s eyes keep skipping over to Harry when he’s not looking. 

“I agree with you, completely. But _you_ only think that because you’re in love with Harry” 

Louis nearly breaks his neck with how quickly he changes the direction of his head, and his eyes are slowly bulging out of his skull as he looks back at Zayn. In love with Harry? Is he _serious_ ? In…. _love…_ .with... _Harry_? Louis would laugh if the sound wasn’t lodged somewhere deep within his throat, and all he can manage out is a squawk of denial. 

“I’m not!” Louis protests defensively when he finally manages to find his voice. 

“You’re not? Aren’t you not his boyfriend though?” Zayn asks then as if the title of being someone's boyfriend constitutes that you must be in love with them. It doesn’t of course, people date all the time without falling in love within the first few weeks - things like that take time to develop - so Louis can’t really understand why he’s getting so nervous over the concept. 

“Yeah...yeah I am. I just uh…” 

“Haven’t told him yet?” Zayn offers then and Louis just nods to allow Zayn to assume he’s right. Which he clearly isn’t. Louis doesn’t love Harry. 

“No. Haven’t told him yet” is what Louis says then to hopefully sell this lie even further, and he can’t help but feel like he’s tangling himself up in a web that he’ll never get out of. These people are Harry’s _friends_ \- his real friends who probably know more about him than Louis will ever know and all this lying is surely not good for the soul. What will happen when this wedding week is over and they have to return to reality? Will Harry spin some story about how Louis broke his heart or how they decided to amicably go their separate ways? Will he accept false comfort from them? Surely this lie will have to stop and not be immortalised as part of Harry’s story whenever his friends reflect on his past. They’ll say things like _“Oh Harry, remember that lad Louis that you used to date? How’s he doing?”_ and Harry will have to lie while knowing the full extent of the truth. 

It’s enough to give Louis a headache. 

“But you do love him” Zayn announces then, and no hint of questioning is in his tone which makes Louis feel as transparent as a glass sculpture - like Zayn can see inside him and study the inner carvings of his heart that Louis himself can’t even see “it’s in your eyes when you look at him, Louis. You look at him like there’s nothing else in the world. It’s good that. Harry always looks at other people that way, it’s nice to know someone’s doing it back” 

_Maybe because it feels like there isn’t anyone else in the world when I’m with him,_ Louis would say if all of this was real and he was in fact Harry’s boyfriend. It’d be acceptable to say then, but not now when all of this is pretend and the words are stuck in his throat like razor blades, and not when Harry’s been looking at Theo for most of the night. 

Louis chances a glance back over to the pool table, but his lips downturn into a frown when he notices Harry’s no longer there and the others are engaged in a game of pool. He swivels around on the couch then to look for Harry’s tall figure but he can’t see him or his curls or his magenta shirt within the throngs of guests. 

“You should tell him, you know” Zayn’s silky voice wavers to Louis’ ears “I know he’d say it back” 

“Maybe, mate. Uh, I gotta go find him” Louis says as he scrambles off the couch “he’s pretty drunk and I don’t like the thought of him wandering around by himself. I’ll catch you later” 

“My place tomorrow, yeah? Don’t forget!” Zayn calls after him as he begins to walk away, intent now on seeking out Harry to make sure he’s alright. He hadn’t looked too content earlier “I’ll text Harry to let him know!”

“Yeah I’ll see you then!” Louis calls back over his shoulder just before turning the corner and heading for the staircase. 

It’s started to rain now, wispy spits of rainwater whistling through the gentle breeze and tickling Louis’ face as he steps out onto the balcony. Harry is sitting on one of the wooden benches, long legs tucked under it and large hands gripping his thighs - his handsome face is upturned towards the heavens, rain kissing his cheeks and licking onto his lips ever so gently like the fluttering of a moth's wings. His eyes are closed and for one moment Louis just stands there and takes him in - his eyes tracing over every inch of his moon shadowed face and the tightness in his shoulders. 

“Hey, you” Louis says softly as he steps closer to Harry “I thought you’d be up here” 

“Louis” Harry greets with a smile, opening his green eyes and watching as Louis plonks beside him rather ungracefully. The rain is barely a light shower, and is only tickling his skin lightly but it’s still cold enough to make him shiver where he sits. 

“Are you okay?” Louis asks gently, his eyes tracing how a misty drop of rainwater clings to Harry’s eyelashes. His fingers ache to brush along his face to wipe it away but he clenches them by his side instead. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just came out here to think” Harry mumbles, the tip of his black boot kicking the tiles of the balcony floor. 

“What are you thinking about in that curly head of yours?” Louis nudges him playfully, unconsciously scooting closer to him. Somehow the rain is paltry in its presence then, and all he can feel is the warm electricity that seems to spark off of Harry’s damp body. 

“Things” is Harry’s intelligent response, his eyes upturned towards the moon that is hanging lazily against the black sky. There are no stars tonight, just the moon's face that looks down on them like a spotlight, craters glinting against the silver like millions of eyes that watch their every move. It’s not jarring like it should be - but it’s rather comforting to be able to be like this with Harry, so close and so personal, and have the moon witness it. 

“Of course you’re thinking things, Harold. But what things specifically” Louis asks then, watching as Harry’s face drops a little “unless you don’t want to tell me, and that’s fine, you don’t have to. I just want to make sure you’re not upset or anything” 

“I’m just….I guess I’m just thinking of everything” 

_Theo_. He’s thinking of Theo, of course, and something icy seems to puncture one of Louis’ lungs because when he breathes in again it’s laced with frigid cold. And it has nothing to do with the swirl of misty rain that covers them. 

“You know you’ll be alright, don’t you?” Louis tells him ever so softly, voice mixing in with the gentle murky condensation around them. 

“I know” Harry attempts a smile, body sagging a little when Louis presses his shoulder against Harry’s - bodies fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. 

“Do you? You seem so hopeless, Harry. I saw how you were looking at him tonight. You _will_ get over him, and you’ll find someone to love you more than anything” Louis tells him firmly - but something twinges inside of him at his own words. He gets a flash then of Harry being happy with some faceless guy, marrying him and being incandescently happy and in love, and a bitter taste forms on Louis’ tongue that is altogether hard to swallow. 

“You know…” Louis continues, coughing a little as his heart begins to pull achingly in his chest at the prospect of what he’s about to say “my Mum used to tell me that yesterday is heavy, so you have to put it down because the weight of it will stop you enjoying today. I think you need to let yesterday go, and realise how amazing you are. Without him” 

“You’ve got sad eyes, Louis” Harry says then, turning his head to look into Louis’ eyes. He bristles where he sits, completely jarred over the slight change of conversation course - this is supposed to be Louis talking to Harry about his life issues, not the other way around “beautiful eyes, but there’s something sad about them” 

“I don’t have _sad_ eyes” Louis shakes his head fiercely, looking away from Harry and to the face of the celestial rock in the sky. She seems to glow a little brighter than she had a moment ago, as if she’s fully agreeing with Harry’s statement. _Traitor_ , Louis would like to spit to the sky. Plus Harry is still a little drunk, if the wideness of his eyes or the smell of vodka clinging to him is a giveaway. Clearly he doesn't know what he’s talking about.

“Sometimes they look so alive, you know? Like how the ocean looks when it’s restless. That’s so silly, right? But then they can look so sad, like something in here” Harry taps a finger against Louis’ forehead “reminds you that you can’t be truly happy” 

“I am happy. Most of the time. I’ve got issues like everyone else, yeah? But I’m fine” Louis shrugs nonchalantly but he knows even though Harry’s still drunk (or stoned, he can’t really be sure since Zayn had been passing around a blunt earlier and he doesn’t know if Harry took it) that he’s not buying it. Louis can feel every horrid memory that he’s suppressed rear up inside his head and beg to be released under the weight of Harry’s gaze. 

“Yesterday’s heavy, remember?” Harry smiles dopily “you have to let your stuff go too, all of it that you hold inside” 

Louis knows that letting go of pain and torment is easier said than done. But here with Harry under the dark sky, with the moon as their only confidante, it doesn’t seem like an impossible task. Perhaps he can rip his past from his mind and stuff it within the craters of the moon so that she might keep his secrets safe. Maybe then he could feel free without the trapping confines of self deprecation. 

“Ah, I’m tough. I can take it” is what he says instead of the truth, shrugging yet again as if to alleviate the stifling feeling that is crowding his body. 

“You don’t have to be, Louis. Just because you can take it doesn’t mean you have to” Harry tells him gently, head tilted towards him and eyes looking into his like they’re magnets that he can’t separate “you don’t have to pretend with me” 

Not once, in all his years of battling with himself has anyone ever told him that. He guesses that he’s done a fairly good job of hiding his true self deep down within him - a boy with a wide smile and hopeful eyes, and a heart that had known what it wanted - and now he feels like a ghost that merely gets by day to day while living an entire lie. All because of the words of someone who should have accepted him for who he is and who shouldn’t have tried to change him. He chokes down the image of his father’s face and turns his eyes towards the moon - as if her glowing silver light will banish him from his brain. 

Maybe Harry doesn’t know what he’s saying, or maybe he hadn’t meant to imply that he knows how Louis pretends. But still, it stirs his soul within him and all he wants to tell Harry is how he doesn’t want to pretend with him - how he wants to be himself and unlock all those repressed desires that are shoved deep down in the dusty corners of his mind. 

Perhaps James had been right, maybe Louis should take up writing. He certainly wants to scribble down Harry’s words in a journal and immortalise them in cursive smudges of black ink. Perhaps he should tattoo this conversation on his skin in hopes that it will sink into his bones and turn them to steel. Maybe they can make him stronger, more sturdy so that he will never again collapse under the weight of all his burdens. 

Maybe with Harry’s strength coursing through him, he might never crumble like an ancient rune. 

“I wasn’t looking at him earlier because I still want him, you know” Harry interrupts Louis’ incoherent train of thought then “I don’t want to get back with him or anything. Not at all” 

“Do you still love him?” Louis asks then, brushing a raindrop from his temple that had started to slide down his skin. _Please say no,_ Louis almost chants in his head, _please say no._

“No, I don’t” Harry shakes his head of tumbling curls “I thought that maybe I did, and then…..and then the other day I saw him and I don’t know, I guess I just realised that I never _truly_ loved him, you know? I didn’t love him the way true love should feel. I was just infatuated with the thought of him” 

“How should it make you feel?” Louis asks rather breathlessly then, his shoulder leaning on Harry as if for support. 

“Safe” Harry answers then, and Louis’ mouth dries like the cracked floor of a desert when Harry’s emerald eyes flicker all over his face “like you’re home, like they’re the one person you’ll always look for in a crowded room, and when your eyes meet you just know that you’ve found them and that no matter how shit things get everything will be okay because they’re _your_ person. Theo isn’t _my_ person and he never was. He was just someone I was with, and I need to move on. I came out here because it hit me, you know? And now I guess I’ve just been thinking about everything” 

“I was telling the truth, you know, when I said you’re better off without him. You’re too good for him” Louis says with a smile, hoping that Harry really understands that he is too exceptional for anyone else. The moon herself should feel grateful for shining upon something so wonderfully magnificent. 

“Maybe you’re right” Harry smiles back, and there’s something in his eyes that is so undeniably fond that Louis has to look away, and suddenly his hands are twitching and before he knows what he’s doing he’s picking up Harry’s hand and tracing over his tattoo. 

“Don’t anchors not have ropes?” Louis asks, thinking of how every nautical anchor tattoo he’s ever seen has been paired with a winding rope. Harry’s anchor just lies there on his forearm, down near his wrist, ropeless and sinking within his ocean of skin with nothing to pull it up. It seems rather forlorn, actually. 

“Guess I haven’t found the thing to pull me up” Harry says with a hint of something sad lacing in his tone - just like how the dense mist wavers in the wind “you ever think of getting any?”

“Maybe one day. I always thought of getting them with….” Louis trails off, a pink blush forming on his cheeks as he drops Harry’s hand “nah, never mind. It’s stupid” 

“Nothing you could say would be stupid, Lou” 

Louis nearly falls off the bench at the endearing shortened version of his name, and the memory of Harry calling him that in his sleep comes back to him as fiercely as a slap across the face. 

“You talked about finding that person, right? The one you’re meant for, like a soul mate? I always thought that when I found them I’d get a tattoo with them, or _for_ them, I don’t know but I thought it was a nice idea. Like matching tattoos or corresponding ones even” Louis says as he scratches his head rather embarrassedly. It’s true that it’s a concept he’s thought of before - even Lottie had wanted to get a sibling tattoo with him before he had chickened out - it had always been a nice little fantasy in his head. Being permanently inked with someone you love is the ultimate life long commitment, but it’s a romantic notion Louis can’t help but be fond of. It’s just a fantasy though, because he knows he will probably never find his soul mate.

“Corresponding?” Harry questions with a screwed up face, but then realisation hits him “oh so like an anchor and a rope, yeah? Or like a ship and a compass? That kind of thing?” 

“Yeah, like that. It was just an idea I always liked. You’ve got a ship, right? Here?” Louis asks, two fingers prodding gently over Harry’s shirt sleeve where his intricately tattooed ship lies on his arm. 

“Yeah, I went pretty crazy my last year at Eton. I guess I just wanted to rebel in some small way, but it kind of backfired when no one really cared” Harry chuckles, his long fingers bridging the space between them to gently pick up Louis’ hand. He starts to trace over the skin above his knuckles and then lets his fingers curl around the bone of his wrist. Louis is thankful that he can blame the rain shower on why he starts to shiver “one right here would be nice” 

“What are you drawing?” Louis asks after a while of Harry looping patterns on his skin with the pad of his finger - a sharp prickle of goosebumps fleck on Louis’ skin at the touch. 

“A rope” Harry tells him, eyes wildly adoring as they jump from Louis’ hand to stare into his soul. Louis gulps then harshly, and somehow his legs and arms feel like lead. 

“To go through an anchor?” he almost whispers, feeling like he can’t get away from Harry’s beautiful stare even if he tried - his eyes are glued to his green ones and the world is whittled down to Harry and Harry alone. But suddenly Harry lets Louis’ hand go and it seems that the rope he had been tracing snaps apart, two ends distanced by finality - reaching for one another but not quite meeting.

“Wonder if I’ll ever meet my soulmate” Harry gloomily bows his head then, his eyes ripping away from Louis’ face. The rain starts to pelt a little heavier then, the barraging drops of it bouncing off the canopy above their heads and being blown against their faces with the light wind. Maybe they should go inside, but Louis would gladly just exist out here. 

“Yes, you will, Harry. Of course you will” Louis tells him with a friendly knock of his fist against his thigh. _Because you’re beautiful, and funny and kind and the world seems to orbit around you and you’re just special, Harry_ \- is what he would love to say. 

It seems that Louis’ words stir something within Harry, because one minute his shoulders stop moving with his breaths and the next his lip is wobbling with a silent sob. All his heartache and pain seem to rear up inside of him more prominently and it mixes with the vodka in his veins and causes him to become so quietly emotional. 

“Oh, Harry. Please don’t cry” Louis rushes out, his arms flinging around him before his mind can even scold him for it. He gathers him against him, letting his head fall against his shoulder as he lets bitter tears fall from his eyes. 

They just sit there for a while, the rain pattering against their faces and Harry’s tears mixing against their skin, and the moon sits there in the sky like an aching bulb that puts Harry’s heartache on display. Louis knows his heart must be breaking, that his mind must be so confused with itself. He’s unlearning all he’s ever known about someone who he thought he was in love with, and now he has to see him be happy with someone else while he himself sits here wishing he could find his soul mate. 

Louis just holds him tighter each time he feels him shiver with a little sob, and the selfish part of him wishes Harry would never stop crying so that he could just hold him a little longer. But eventually he stops, his body stilling against Louis’ and his breathing turning to normal yet Louis doesn’t relent his hold on him. 

“Hey, you alright now?” Louis asks him softly, lips pressing onto the crown of his head and a hand rubbing circles onto his broad back. 

“Yeah, I’m good now. Sorry, by the way. Sometimes I get overly emotional when I drink” Harry mumbles into Louis’ shoulder. 

“Don’t apologise, love. It’s okay” Louis tells him, his voice so fond it doesn’t even sound like it belongs to him.

“Can we get out of here? I think I just need a cup of tea and my bed” Harry lifts his head a little, pouty lips ever so close to Louis’ jaw and he pretends that it doesn’t stiffen him like a statue - his limbs almost locking into place. 

“Yeah, alright. I didn’t drink at all tonight, so I’ll drive us home. No need to call Gemma” Louis tells him with a stupid grin on his face “you want to go now?” 

“Can we just….sit here for a minute longer? I like the rain” Harry says then, eyes beaming up at Louis, and all he can do is gulp stupidly loud and nod his head like a mute. 

There’s an unspoken desire in the green of Harry’s eyes that tells Louis that Harry doesn’t want to sit here and listen to the rain at all but rather wants to keep being held by Louis since his arms are offering him so much comfort. Despite the fact that he hasn’t drunk anything tonight, he still feels as weak as the rain pattered leaves on the trees that surround the house at the way his heart seems to stutter in his chest. He feels drunk just off the presence and feel of Harry against him. 

He just wraps his arms around him tighter, his other trembling hand resting on his knee and he just sits there and lets Harry rest his head on his shoulder, his hot breaths tickling the skin of his jaw and while they sit in silence he finds that his soul slips into contentment. 

He’s content here now, with the small things - with the feel of his cheek pressed against his shoulder, the way his soft brown hair tickles his jaw and how he smells of cologne, fruity cocktails, fresh laundry and the rain that pelts against them. He imagines that the rain is going to wash away Harry’s worries and his own too - let all bitter heartache run off their skin, fall from their eyelashes and snake past their lips. He imagines that it will flow from them and run into the soil to bloom flowers made from pain. Let something beautiful be made from all those bottled up years of torture, Louis wishes.

They sit there together for what feels like eternity and a second all at once, and just like how the intrinsic way a poem holds beauty behind its words, Louis holds Harry. So _close_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are always appreciated, thank you x


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Leave a few kudos and comments if you want, they're always appreciated x  
> ps. this is the poem that Louis quotes which is a poem that has always been one of my favourites by one of the most beautiful poets I've ever read (who was also a closeted gay man who was forced to marry a woman and I just thought it was so fitting to Louis and Harry, especially the nautical references to the compass points)

_**He was my North, my South, my East and West,** _

_**My working week and my Sunday rest,** _

_**My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;** _

_**I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.** _

_**The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,** _

_**Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,** _

_**Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.** _

_**For nothing now can ever come to any good.** _

_**\- Wystan H Auden** _

* * *

The dusky morning feathers Louis’ skin with soft kisses of golden light as it spills through the open curtains, and beams in thick rays across the bed he lies in. Amber splices of sun cut across the ivory sheets and dances across the long limbs of the person lying next to him, ghosting across his freckled shoulders and the dip of his back in pale swashes of fiery yellow and orange. Louis would almost be mad at himself for forgetting to close over the curtains last night before going to sleep - but he can’t really afford to when the sun is shining against Harry’s profile like he’s a chunk of Renaissance marble that has been sculpted by the crafty hand of an artist with the most torturously cultivated soul. He’ll suffer the slight pain under his eyelids from the harsh light of early morning if he gets to keep staring at him. 

He should want to run and scream, hide away in the dark depths of his mind and well away from his thoughts of depravity, but he can’t quite seem to move. His petulant inner conscience must be tucked down within the cushy membrane under his skull, still asleep, because he lays there content. Harry’s breath fans over his face, billowing gently against the cushion of Louis’ cheeks and snaking through his hair to tickle his scalp, and Louis just stays there unmoving, watching how Harry’s eyelashes flutter with every flicker of his dream. 

Louis begins to imagine what Harry dreams about, and wonders with a tremoring jolt if he ever dreams of him. God knows Louis dreams enough about Harry - it would be interesting to know if the torturous sentiment is reciprocated. He can never stop wondering about the night Harry called out _Lou_ in his sleep like his tongue had formed the word so many times, and had allowed for it to wiggle itself inside his mouth to nestle there comfortably - like it belonged there somehow. He sighs wistfully then at the many conjured up dream scenarios that he could possibly be playing a part in beneath Harry’s thick blanket of long curls, and decides when his heart lurches in his chest that he should just give up imagining at this stage and try to get out of bed. 

He knows that he won’t be able to fall back asleep now that his eyes have been permanently widened by the brightness he’d first woken up to, but when Harry’s pillowy lips open to let out a gravelly groan of early morning disturbance he finds that all his limbs have suddenly decided to become useless. He stays stone still under the covers - he begins to think that perhaps he’s the colossal hunk of statuesque marble now since he can’t move an inch - and all he can do is let his eyes trace over every line of Harry’s body that he can see. 

Louis’ hands that rest beneath the covers ache to smooth out over the expanse of Harry’s back, to let them tangle in his thick mess of hair or to let those tingling fingertips of his trace over the tattoos on his arms - Louis’ own skin itches with the memory of how Harry had drawn patterns on the inside of his wrist last night, and he almost shivers under the bundle of blankets as he thinks of it. 

They had sat there underneath the dipped canopy in the middle of a rain shower for what seemed like hours, both getting damper by the second with how the misty fog soaked through their clothes and clung to the tendrils of their hair. Harry had rested his head on Louis’ shoulder the entire time, face fitting into the crook of Louis’ neck so intrinsically that it felt like they had been purposely moulded to piece together. 

Louis almost wants to scoff at his own stupidity. How idiotic he is for thinking that Harry Styles could be made just for him. 

A deplorable thought, really. 

Harry was made for the entire universe to desire and fawn over - not mere mortal men like Louis who are too afraid of their own inner wants to do anything that Harry would deserve. He’s just so damn _afraid_ of himself, of that little bubble inside of his body that aches and cries from within him for something that is hard to articulate and structure into something sensical. If he is to ever give in to that, then he’d be surely thrown into the middle of an ocean and he’d have to learn how to grapple against the waves and swim towards the horizon - and he may just never make it there. He might just drown. 

Unlearning everything you’ve ever thought about yourself is hard, and it’s terrifying to find out that there’s this whole other person inside of you that wants things you’ve never had before, and Louis realises this. He does. But perhaps Louis has already met this person - well he knows he has - and he had buried him deep down inside of himself a long, long time ago. That’s why it’s possibly so hard for Louis, to uncover mysteries within himself that he’s already been aware of yet knowing he’ll never be able to be brave enough to act on it. 

Louis sighs then, a soft broken thing that escapes past his lips in an uneven breath, and he finds that his heart stutters along with the sound as if to accompany his verbal pain. It dully aches inside of him, each stuttering beat an agony that he must bear while staring at something so perfect and knowing that he’ll never be his. All because Louis isn’t brave. 

He gets a little breathless then as his eyes once again scan over Harry’s face that is shadowed in gold light - he’s so golden, shining like a celestial being that is painted on the walls of cathedrals - and Louis’ lungs seize up when he’s struck with the thought that _this_ is what he wants, but it’s something that he will probably never have. He knows, deep down, that this isn’t even him wishing to be honest with himself so he can be brave enough to be with another boy. 

This is him wanting to be with one particular boy - someone he wants to wake up to every day in an entanglement of limbs, someone he wants to kiss in the kitchen while they make pancakes on a lazy Saturday, or argue with in the middle of a grocery aisle about what they should make for dinner, or play fight in the living room about who’s turn it is to do the dishes. He wants to be courageous enough to hold his hand in public, to kiss him under the dimming leaves of a tree in the middle of Autumn, or to dance wildly with him in the neon jungle of the city’s clubs. He wants it _all_. Every stupid little thing that seems so cheesy, but with Harry it could be so beautifully easy and loving. He knows it, he can feel it in his bones - knows that they’d work somehow despite the fact the very thought of it terrifies him to death.

He just lays there for another minute or two, cerulean eyes taking in Harry’s face and deciding that he’s going to dedicate his profile to memory - the way the sun easily kisses the tips of his eyelashes and covers them in a dusty yellow glow, how his jawbone is angled enough to seem severe but on Harry it just looks handsomely endearing, how his lips are even more pouty in sleep and how his wild mess of hair is so beautifully chaotic that Louis wishes he’d never comb it. 

God he’s just so _beautiful_ , and Louis could almost cry with the frustration he feels inside of himself because of his inability to reach inside of his soul and pluck out the ball of knotted emotions that he has stored deep down. But from the dark part of his mind a distant memory scratches at the surface and the looming face of his father bares down at him with a viciousness that had caused Louis to hide his true self in the first place. He chokes down the lump that is rising in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut to stop the sharp sting of traitor tears that are now pricking behind them. 

Harry shifts then under the covers and he shoots a large hand up to his face, long fingers pressing into his eyes to rub them. Louis just stays utterly still, unable to look away from the dotingly pretty look on Harry’s morning face. He doesn’t think he’s seen him look so vulnerable before, so peaceful, and the thought tugs Louis’ heartstrings painfully - as if to remind him that he should look away. 

“Morning” Harry mumbles sleepily, clearly unperturbed with how close he and Louis are under the covers “did you sleep well? I feel like death” 

“Morning” Louis sighs back, crossing his arms beneath the blankets to refrain from touching Harry - and he really wants to touch him, to trace the swallows on his chest and the curved bones of his shoulders and the straight angle of his nose “and yeah I slept well. But of course _I_ did since I wasn’t the one who had an entire bottle of white wine that I chased down with tequila. Oh and let’s not forget the peach flavoured vodka” 

“Oh god, don’t remind me. I feel sick just remembering it” Harry groans, turning onto his back and running two hands through his hair. Louis tries not to notice how the sheet slips around his waist and how his bare chest is on full display, but he fails terribly of course and can’t help but stare at his gloriously well made body. It’s pathetic, really. 

“It’s all self inflicted, Harold. So I’ve no sympathy for you” Louis shrugs teasingly as he sits up - completely grateful he has no hangover aches or head pain since he’d decided to stay fully sober last night. A lot of good that did, because in the end he had still ended up with Harry in his arms and became closer to him when all he had wanted was to give himself space from the boy. 

“Here I was thinking you’d take pity on me and bring me breakfast in bed. Clearly, I was wrong” Harry scoffs with an eye roll, a playful smirk twisting around his pink lips and when Louis turns around to look at him he nearly chokes. There he is, hands above his head while sitting half propped up on the headboard, white sheets dipping low to reveal his red boxers and with a look in his eyes that seems to light up the entire room - and he might just be the most magnificent thing Louis’ ever seen. Louis has a flash of himself bringing Harry breakfast in bed and leaning down to kiss the soft cushions of his lips - the sheer imagined act of domesticity nearly causing his heart to plummet with want inside his chest. 

“Clearly” Louis plays off with a roll of his own eyes “but if it makes you feel better I will walk into town with you and get coffee, and I’ll even buy it” 

“You know what? You’re the best fake boyfriend ever” Harry sighs, closing his eyes once again and snuggling his messy head against the pillows. His words had been innocent, totally meant as a joke but Louis just sits there utterly stunned for a second because….oh how he wants the word _fake_ to be omitted from that statement. He wants it so, so bad. But there’s a huge part of him - a dark, imprisoned part - that won’t allow it. 

“Alright, Harold. I’m heading for a shower and then I’m going to go for a walk, have a smoke and all that. Meet you downstairs then after you shower?” Louis rushes out, almost jumping from the bed with the fleeting nervousness that is taking over his body. His thoughts have been all over the place this morning - they have been ever since this week began - and he needs to calm himself down and unwind all the complicated thoughts that are getting rolled around his head into one big knot. He doesn’t even wait for Harry’s response, just grabs clothes out of his luggage and hurries towards the shower - the bathroom door slamming shut behind him seeming to close off the barraging thoughts of the beautiful boy splayed out in Louis’ bed. 

.

He doesn’t make it for a walk at all, but is rather ambushed by a flurrying Gemma just as he’s about to head onto the maze’s trail - he had been quite content with the idea of walking amiably among rose bushes while puffing away on his cigarette - but apparently Harry’s buoyant sister has other plans. 

“Oh, Louis! Come join us!” Gemma greets him as soon as he walks down the stone steps that lead onto the trimmed grass of the perfectly cut lawns. 

She sits beside her cousin, both of them wearing large sun hats that nearly cover their faces and oversized shades despite the fact a massive ivory parasol expands over the table. The surface of the table is covered in bridal magazines, swatches of white lace that all look the same (although Louis knows they’re probably supposed to be different), strings of ribbons and a mirage of coffee cups that all have brown rings around the rims. The centerpiece of this ensemble seems to be a glass ashtray that Gemma is nearly hunched over - cigarette stuck into a long black holder that she keeps hurling towards her mouth. 

Louis almost bounces towards them, thinking that perhaps Gemma’s overall ebullience and Poppy’s ferocious bridal behaviour can outdo his thoughts, instead of a pensive walk in a rather romantic setting like the rose swarmed maze. 

“Morning, ladies” he greets them, retrieving his own box of cheaply made cigarettes out of his back pocket. Gemma pushes her glasses down her nose then and eyes him over the crocodile patterned rims with an appreciative look that silently thanks him for saving her from whatever all _this_ is. Louis looks down at the table again and almost wants to laugh at how desperate Gemma looks amongst the chaos of it all. 

“Louis, you have to forgive us for this mess” Poppy shakes her blonde curls at herself, tutting with a perfectly rouged mouth as she waves a hand around “It’s all just last minute preparation, and I’ve gone a _little_ crazy while preparing everything how I want it to be ” 

“No need to apologise” Louis smiles at her, leaning his elbows onto an issue of _Bridal Guide_ \- the model’s beaming face that is splayed across the front crinkling under his movements “it’s perfectly normal to be going a little crazy. It’s your wedding you know, it’s a really big day” 

“Perfectly normal” Gemma inputs with a tight smile, her hands itching around the coffee cup she grabs “just like how it was normal to keep me up listening to music you want to walk down the aisle to because you couldn’t choose, or how you’ve made me model about a hundred different hairstyles for the bridesmaids since you can’t decide either. All those pins have given me scalp damage by the way” 

“Well, I’m just glad _somebody_ gets how important my wedding day is, so thank you, Louis. You’re very sweet” Poppy smiles at him genuinely, but she doesn’t miss a beat to throw a pretty glare at her maid of honour “I can see why my lovely cousin fell in love with you. Where is Harry by the way? I think he’s been trying to avoid me ever since I asked him to play at the wedding reception” 

“Oh you know Harry’s a little shy when it comes to playing in front of family, Poppy. You mustn’t pester him” Gemma argues lightly, nudging Poppy in the arm like this is something she’s said so many times and is exasperated by now. Which, it probably is. 

“I’m sure he’ll come around” Louis smiles at her after a drag of his cigarette, the wispy smoke jutting from his lips as he talks “and he’s still upstairs getting ready. We’re going to grab breakfast in town” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear my poor brother out last night” Gemma smirks cheekily, and Louis has to try and not choke on the cloud of smoke he’s just inhaled into his lungs “don’t think that I didn’t hear you two up at three in the morning, giggling like a pair of teenagers. It’s utterly disgusting how cute you are” 

“We were coming back from a party, Gemma. _Jeez_ ” Louis shifts on his chair a little, feeling a hot blush creep up his neck and blossom across his cheeks. He could blame it on the hot blanket of sun that covers them if it wasn’t so obvious “that’s why we were up that late” 

It’s true, in fact, that he and Harry had stumbled back into the house at around three - Harry giggling stupidly at whatever Louis was saying to try and cheer him up, and it had worked. Harry had somehow managed to store away his apparent heartache and trade it for giggles and childish tickling that he orchestrated on Louis’ waist whenever he stumbled and Louis tried to catch him. Walking up the huge staircase to get to their room had seemed like a trek up Mount Everest, but Louis had wished that it would last forever if it meant he got to keep his hands steady on Harry’s waist for that long too. 

They’d eventually gotten to their room and had nearly burst through the door when Harry stuck out his foot by accident and nearly sent Louis flying through the air with the force of it. It had caused the little table by the door with the fake flowers to knock against the wall, and the vase to tumble to the carpeted floor. Louis tries to imagine what it would have sounded like from Gemma’s perspective in the room next door - things banging against the wall, followed by a train of throaty giggles and quiet pleas of _“Be quiet, Harry!”_ and _“I can’t Louis, everything just feels so good”_ (Harry had been talking about the effects of the alcohol. Clearly. But Gemma doesn’t know that) and as Louis thinks about it he can feel his blush deepen even more. He’s sure he looks like a ripe plum right now.

“Oh leave them alone, Gems! They’re young and in love, let them have their fun” Poppy throws Louis a comradery wink then - like she’s telling him not to be embarrassed, but Louis’ head is just crammed with yet another horrifying snippet of reality where someone else is convinced he and Harry are in love. Zayn had thought the same thing last night, and now Poppy just states it so blatantly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and all Louis can do is sit stone still while his heart threatens to implode inside of him. 

It almost does when he catches a glimpse of Harry walking across the lawn towards them - his usual dopey grin on his face and a large hand raised in a wave when he spots Louis sitting under the parasol. His hair is brushed and flowing against his jaw in big curls, and the paisley print shirt he wears is green and yellow - he almost looks like a tree in spring with his long limbs and bright shirt. 

“Harry, darling! We were just talking about you” Gemma states rather coyly, mischief dancing with sarcasm inside her espresso shot eyes “you look positively wrecked! Good night?” 

“Oh yeah, it was brilliant” Harry smiles rather stiffly as he sits down, thankfully not catching onto his sister's double meaning that she had just stuffed into her words. He’s lying, of course. The night had not been brilliant in any shape or form and had rather been an outlet for Harry to cry to Louis about his heartache (not that Louis had minded at all that Harry had trusted him enough to bare all that to him) and it hadn’t turned fun per se until Louis and Harry had drove home singing along to the awful pop tunes on the late night radio and had tripped up the stairs like twelve year olds. 

“What were you talking about, then? You said you’d just been talking about me” Harry asks, leaning back in his chair that rests beside Louis’ and leaving his arm on the rest - dangerously close to Louis’ own. 

“Nothing bad, my lovely. We were just saying how we’d all love it if you were to lend your utterly brilliant musical talent to us for an hour or so during the wedding reception” Poppy beams across the table at Harry, removing her glasses to allow her younger cousin to see the hopefulness inside her green eyes. Gemma scoffs from beside her, lips wrapped around her cigarette and eyes narrowed playfully. 

“ _You_ were talking about that. Louis and I were talking about the early morning sexscapade you two had that woke me up” Gemma inputs ever so blasé, the hand holding her cigarette waving towards Harry who almost knocks down an entire cup of cold coffee that had sat on the table in front of him. His clumsy hands fumble to hold the cup steady, only getting a tiny splash of the mud brown liquid onto a copy of _Bridal Weekl_ y. 

“We weren’t!” Louis nearly grits out, foot swiping under the table to kick Gemma’s shin but he butts the chair leg instead and she shoots him a childish smile - all she’s short of doing is sticking out her tongue at him “Harry, we really weren’t” 

“Gemma, we did nothing of the sort. Stop trying to embarrass Louis” Harry glares at his sister, eyes intent but his cheeks are blushing an awfully incriminating shade of pink that probably most definitely matches the blush on Louis’ face. 

“Alright, I’ll drop it” Gemma says with a shrug, a smirk dancing across her painted lips “but just be quieter next time” 

“Oh _Jesus Christ_ , Gemma, grow up! I’ll tell Mum you’re being a pain in the backside and that you won’t leave my boyfriend alone!” Harry fumes, picking up one of the ivory swatches and tossing it at Gemma. It rather unceremoniously lands on the peak of her sunhat, and she raises a manicured hand to pick it off rather boredly. 

“Tell _Mum_ ? What are you... _three_ ? Honestly, Louis, did you know you’re dating a toddler?” Gemma rolls her eyes as she looks at him, but Louis can’t find his voice to answer her - too focused on how the words _my boyfriend_ had slipped out of Harry’s mouth so easily. 

“Gems, you’re the one teasing Louis and I over something so ridiculous. Just be a bit more mature” 

“Jeez, Harry, you’re such a bore sometimes! Like take a joke, would you?” Gemma grumbles, arms folded across her chest when she plonks her cigarette holder down atop a bundle of wedding magazines. 

“A joke? Not funny when it’s about my sex life, thank you” Harry leans back in his chair, clearly irritated and Louis doesn’t miss how Harry mumbles _“Well, non existent sex life”_ under his breath so quietly that the others can’t hear him. He chances a glance at him then and when he does he feels his heart tug a little at how much Harry’s pouting and looking darkly across the table at his sister. Louis knows he must be feeling embarrassed about the conclusions other people have come up about them by now - like assuming that they sleep together and have wild sex at three in the morning that causes the furniture in their room to knock against the walls when it’s further from the truth. Obviously it’s a little awkward to sit here beside one another and know that they’re viewed completely differently through everyone else’s eyes when Harry and Louis themselves are the only ones that know the truth. Gemma looks at them and sees two boys in a relationship, in a couple, in _love_ , and so does Poppy and almost everyone else. It’s slightly mortifying to know the truth of the situation and not be able to stop anyone else’s perception. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. We really weren’t talking about that, Gemma was just trying to embarrass us. It’s just banter” Louis says as he knocks his knee against Harry’s and attempts to throw him a smile. Harry reciprocates it kindly, glancing quickly at his sister and then leaning close to Louis - he nearly stiffens in his chair at the way Harry’s cologne seems to take over his senses, and he can’t seem to look anywhere but into his green eyes. 

“I know, I just like messing with her too” Harry shrugs with a dimpled grin “if she thinks we’re actually pissed with her then _she’ll_ be the one who’s embarrassed” 

“What an evil brother you are, teasing your poor sister like that. I’m shocked, Harold” Louis smiles back, a hand clutched over his chest in faked horror and Harry just chuckles, green eyes glinting and dimple cratering near his mouth in a deep crevice that looks as if it was carved by the tips of cupid's arrows from little cherubs that have descended from the heavens.

“Oh don’t be, I’ve had to put up with her for twenty years so I’ve learned to bite back” Harry says, breath fanning over Louis’ face with the rhythm of his cheeky words, but his playful smirk drops a little as he stares intently into the blue of Louis’ eyes “and I’m sorry by the way, if she said anything to mortify you. I know this whole thing is uncomfortable for you and -” 

“It’s not. At all” Louis cuts in, eyes darting over the table to make sure Gemma and Poppy are still buried nose deep in fabric swatches - which they are - and then he allows the blush to spread across his face at his blurted out candor, which had just jumped from his mouth like the rushing spring of a stream - unwavering and honest. He almost wants to bury his head in the coffee pot that sits abandoned on his side of the table and preferably drown in its muddy contents, but he refrains from what would be an action that would look completely nuts and instead looks back at Harry. 

“Well, uh, I’m glad” Harry mumbles slowly, words forming steadily in his mouth and there’s something in his eyes that is so warm Louis feels like he’s being swaddled by the sun itself in an embrace that is altogether golden and _homely_. He’s unaware he’s leaning forward in his chair until he feels the bare skin of his arm brush off of Harry’s, goosebumps traveling all the way from his wrist to the band of his t-shirt sleeve, and then there’s a rumbling cough that sounds out low from Harry’s throat and Louis looks away. 

“Uh, yeah. I actually don’t mind being your boyfriend, Curly. You’re not so bad” Louis shrugs in such a feigned nonchalant way that he’s sure he looks like a marionette whose strings have just been pulled sharply. It’s a pure attempt at covering up his stifling honesty with what could be considered a joke, or smart cordial jibe at their situation - but it’s also a thinly veiled attempt at even more truth. Louis really does not mind this whole debacle he is wrapped in, the title of boyfriend and all. 

“Yeah? I quite like being your boyfriend too, Lou. You’re very funny, you don’t snore, which is a bonus, and you’re going to buy me coffee. You’re the whole package, really” Harry teases back, jabbing Louis’ upper arm gently with an elbow. 

Louis had almost forgotten for a minute that they are actually sitting at a table with two other people (fortunately those two other people are currently nattering over what colour ribbon to use and are completely occupied enough not to have heard anything) and suddenly the way his heart swells in his chest at Harry’s words brings him back to reality, that and the exasperated sigh of the bride to be. 

“Oh for heaven's sake! I can’t possibly choose, Gemma! Please tell me you’ll save me from all this wedding stress, Harry love, and play for us during the party?” Poppy asks, her words like needle pricks bursting through a balloon and just like that Louis is ripped away from Harry’s gaze as he turns to look at his cousin with a shadowy and sour expression on his glorious face. 

“You’re never going to stop pestering me, are you?” Harry sighs, pointed elbow resting on the table and a large hand cupping his face. 

“You’re just so awfully talented, Harry! Remember you played for us for nearly three hours straight here last Christmas? It was magical and James couldn’t stop talking about it for days after. It would mean a lot to me if you’d do this for your favourite cousin?” Poppy blinks her doe eyes at him, the pools of green melting like the emerald depths of a swamp. 

“Alright, fine! I’ll play for you! But not for three hours this time, a couple of songs, alright? And then I’m finished” Harry says, trying his best to input sternness in his tone but it comes out like weak exasperation, and the corners of his lips try their hardest not to turn up “I do want to actually enjoy your wedding, not sit behind the piano all night” 

“Oh Harry! You are the best, truly you are! I love you, thank you!” Poppy almost squeals, leaning across to grip onto his large hands - she nearly pulls him over the table with the force of her excitement and Louis has to nearly jump forward to stop the coffee pot from spilling. 

“Yeah, I love you too” Harry says with an endearing roll of his eyes that has the pit of Louis’ stomach doing a flip at the overall cuteness of the action “now do you have any specific requests you want me to play? Just so I know?” 

Poppy launches into it then - grabbing a binder that Louis hadn’t even noticed sitting amongst the literary chaos of what looks to be every issue of every bridal magazine printed in the United Kingdom, and she natters on to Harry in her usual exuberant tone of voice about songs she’d like him to play. Harry argues back about some of them, gently telling her that perhaps this one or that one is too melodic, too melancholy for a wedding or how some he’s never heard of (he rolls his eyes when she just tells him _“Well practice then”_ ) and the whole time Louis just sits there completely entranced with the way his lips move when he talks, or how wonderful the green of his eyes are underneath the soft sunlight. 

He almost jumps out of his skin when a ringed hand clamps down on his knee, squeezing gently and sending shivers that reverberate all throughout his body that start right from under his skull to the deep tunnels of his heart. He flicks his eyes away from Harry’s hand that now rests on the rough black fabric of his jeans and up to his beautifully handsome face. 

“We’ll go get breakfast in a while, yeah? I’m sure she can’t talk about music all day long” Harry says with a smile, an apology swimming somewhere in the depths of his eyes as Poppy chews on her lip while searching her phone for a specific song she’d heard a while ago (“ _Oh it’s such a simple, lovely song! Perfect for setting the mood after the dinner!”_ she had said) 

“Please don’t jinx anything” Louis smirks back but on the inside he feels like a stupid pile of uselessness - unable to even calm his ridiculous heart inside his chest because of the way Harry’s touching him “I’m sure she would if you let her” 

“I won’t, I want to get out of here so I can hang out with you” Harry tells him, sliding his hand away from his knee and leaning away. Louis doesn’t know whether or not to love or hate the way he suddenly feels cold all over without Harry’s touch. 

“Well be quick! I want to hang out with you too, we can walk around the park again and maybe this time you could actually steal a duck for me” Louis teases, heart fluttering when Harry winks before his attention is returned to his boisterous cousin. 

The way his heart suddenly begins to lurch with a fiery distaste just moments after it has decided to take flight inside of him like a romantic bird is almost sickening. One minute he’s feeling all mushy and stupidly happy, and the next he feels like a murderous madman and a self conscious teenager all at once as soon as he spots a rather tall shadow cross itself over the garden. He squints his eyes in the early morning sun to spy Theo languidly strolling towards them with his arm linked in Chelsea’s. His lovely fianceé waves over to them genially, an action that Louis returns, but Theo just looks down his sharply chiselled nose as he passes by the table, a gruff scoff leaving his mouth that is almost quiet enough not to hear. But Louis hears it. 

“Dick” Louis mutters under his breath, fingers fidgeting with the frayed material around the split knee of his jeans as he watches the happy couple disappear around the trail that leads to the maze. For one moment he’s compelled to grab Harry’s hand, tug him into the depths of that maze and flirt and laugh so obnoxiously that Theo is forced to leave its winding hedges. What a wonderful sight Theo’s viciously jealous face would be. 

“You got that right” Gemma says in an almost whisper, and Louis flickers his eyes towards her to see that her mouth is twisted disapprovingly and that her eyes are narrowed beneath the pale brown lenses of her glasses. 

“Honestly, what a twat” Louis remarks coldly. 

“You know I actually feel sorry for you, Louis. That you have to put up with him this week. Must be hard seeing your boyfriend's ex every day, especially when he’s such a shithead” Gemma rolls her eyes, shoulders slumping grumpily. 

“It’s not so bad, really. I have Harry, and he doesn’t. Jokes on him” Louis says with a shrug, but he almost traps his breath inside of his throat with how his words just slip out so easily. But they bring with them a wavering cloud of sadness that reminds him that he _doesn’t_ have Harry. It’s only all pretend. He swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the taste in his mouth that has been brought about by his stifling honesty this morning. Gemma must sense his discomfort because she looks at him with a cocked head and studious brown eyes, a pensive look on her pretty face and an almost sympathetic pout to her lips. 

“Hey, you know, I have a few darling friends in Dorset I was supposed to be visiting next week. I was going to stay at our family cottage, but I’m actually going to London with them instead. Last minute plans and all that” she waves a hand around, and for a second Louis wonders what this is all about “how about you and Harry use it for the week? You’re still on midterm, right? You should extend your time away from campus, and well away from ex boyfriends. You could do with some alone time” 

Oh shit, Louis curses inwardly, swallowing yet another lump in his throat as he thinks about spending another week with Harry. 

Alone. In a cottage. 

But he nods his head anyway with a smile, pretending like he’ll consider it, but he really won’t because this whole week is dedicated to Louis being _paid_ for goodness sake to pretend to be Harry’s boyfriend - that’s the only reason he’s even here. Harry would hardly want to spend a week alone with him, because what’s the point? There will be no need for them to spend time alone after this week is done with (even though that fact might hurt Louis’ heart a little) because once the wedding is over they both return to their normal lives where Harry is single and Louis is a hopeless, internalized closet case. 

“Oh yeah, sounds like fun” Louis almost stammers out and Gemma beams at him brightly. 

“Hey, Harry?” she gets Harry’s attention then, leaning across the table to where he’s deep in conversation with his cousin, screwed up expression on his face as he reads through a song list on her phone (for someone who had been so reluctant to even consider playing at her wedding he’s certainly taking it seriously) and he pauses his scrolling to look up at his sister. 

“Yes, Gemma?” 

“The cottage is free next week, you should take Louis down there and spend the week. It’d be nice” she suggests kindly, and Louis knows she’s trying to be nice and offer them something that she thinks they need - like a romantic getaway to soothe over any awkwardness Louis and Harry have felt this week by being swarmed with the looming shadow of Harry’s ex boyfriend - but this situation itself is causing even more discomfort. 

“Oh, uh, yeah yeah. We’ll uh, think about it, right Lou?” Harry coughs, trying his hardest to play along as if Louis really is his boyfriend that he’d consider spending a week with in the coastal area of Dorset. 

“Yeah, definitely” Louis smiles back rather tightly as he shifts in his chair, and he really wants to get up and leave this rather uncomfortable situation so he asks “you want to head off now, Harry? I’m starved” 

“Yeah, let’s go, I’m famished” Harry agrees, handing Poppy back her phone as he stands on willowy legs from the table “I’ll look over those songs later, play around a bit, okay? See you later” 

Both Gemma and Poppy wave their goodbyes then, and Louis is awfully grateful to leave the shade of the large parasol where he had just sat under and been made slightly tense with the rapid amount of pretending. How easy it has been so far to fool these people, and now Harry’s sister suggests they take a break in their family cottage for some _alone_ time? It’s positively mortifying how everyone has bought into this facade, and how easily Louis wishes it was real. The thought of spending time alone with Harry while tucked away in a quaint cottage with the rolling Dorset waves as a backdrop seems somewhat like a fever dream that is most definitely unattainable and something that will never happen. He sighs greatly to himself as they both amble across the large gardens to the side of the house, and he doesn’t realise how weighty the sound is as it leaves his mouth until Harry eyes him curiously. 

“Hey, you okay? You sure Gemma didn’t bother you too much?” Harry asks him, skin glinting in the sun like marble and his tattoos lying upon his body like etched hieroglyphics in the dusty tunnels of a temple. Louis trips over his feet as he looks up to squint at Harry, and he very much tries to ignore the hand that grips his elbow to steady him - the black cross on Harry’s hand seeming to burn into Louis’ skin rather incriminatingly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, mate. Stop worrying” Louis shakes his head with a smile, trying to distance his body from Harry’s without being too obvious “I’ve a sister too, you know. I know how it is” 

“Good, because the last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable, and I swear the things Gems comes out with sometimes...it’s like she doesn’t have a filter” Harry shakes his head with a laugh as they stroll down the gravel pathway of the entrance, the small country road that they’ll take into town appearing in the near distance “oh, before I forget...you remember Zayn, right? From last night?” 

“Of course I remember him, Harry” Louis rolls his eyes playfully “I was sober, remember _that_? I can perfectly recall the events of the night, unlike you who might be experiencing black outs or moments of memory loss. Do you remember dancing on the pool table to Britney Spears?” 

Harry stalls his movements then, long legs stopping his strolling and he looks at Louis with possibly the most winsome look of horror on his face that anyone has ever displayed. His green eyes that shimmer like broken flints of emerald in the sunlight, now widen to bulbous spheres of panic - Louis has to clamp his lips together at the sight of him. 

“I did not” he states rather slowly, fear laced in his tone like syrup “Oh, Lou, please tell me I did not” 

“I for one think your actions weren’t nearly as dramatic as they should have been. I mean it was Britney, Harry. _Britney_. You should have been swinging from the chandeliers or doing something more exciting, dancing on the pool table was mediocre” Louis teases further with a twisted smirk and a cocked head. 

“I don’t believe you” Harry says firmly, suspicion growing in his eyes “I wasn’t that drunk, I would have remembered something like that” 

“Believe what you want, Harry” Louis shrugs as he begins to walk again, feet intent with traipsing towards the winding road towards town (his stomach is practically growling for food at this stage and he’s in need of tea) “anyway, what’s this about Zayn? Why were you asking me if I remember him?” 

“Well, he texted me this morning. Asked if you and I wanted to hang out with him tonight, so I said I’d ask you” Harry explains, pushing a stray curl away from his eye. 

“Oh, he asked me that last night actually. But I thought he was just rambling nonsense when he was drunk, I didn’t think he’d actually want to hang out with me again” Louis waves a hand around as he yet again squints up to look at Harry. Zayn had indeed offered for Louis to spend time with him and Roman again (and had also iterated the fact that Theo would be nowhere in sight) but Louis had just thought that Zayn was spouting out an invitation to become friends due to the fact most people nattered cordialities when inebriated. Drunk people always make friends, but don’t always keep them. 

“Who wouldn’t want to spend time with you?” Harry chuckles, like it’s the worlds biggest joke that anyone could be stupid enough to refuse time spent in Louis’ presence. It makes his heart swell as much as the rapidly growing sun that hangs in the sky above them - and he feels so warm and yellow on the inside that he’s positively sure his skin is glowing gold. 

“Well then, aren’t you just the luckiest boy in the world. You get to spend time with me when apparently everyone else wants to” Louis tries to scoff nonchalantly like he’s downplaying his flattery, but it comes out like a broken sigh and he blushes under the morning heat rather embarrassingly. 

“The luckiest” Harry says with a smile and a firm nod of his head, and there’s something that dances in his eyes that is so painfully honest looking that it causes Louis’ insides to misbehave in a flurry of emotion. 

He looks quickly away then as they pass through the large silver gates, both of them turning left towards town on the country road. Louis can see the steeple of the town's chapel in the distance, vaulting towards the blue sky and peaking above the velvety density of the trees that line the horizon. He knows that when they reach the bend in the road that is just before them, the whole town of thatched buildings and cobbled walkways will be revealed like shadowy specks of sandstone that rest a million miles away. But the walk isn’t that long, and it only ever takes them about twenty minutes to get into the heart of town, the ground getting flatter the more they walk and the rolling hills of fields disappearing behind them along with Harry’s family estate. 

“So uh, are we going to hang out with Zayn then?” Louis asks, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck that is starting to get hot with how the sun is beating down on him mercilessly. 

“Yeah, if you want to. Zayn’s a cool guy, good company to be around, and he’ll probably only have a couple lads there. Nothing like last night” Harry says, kicking a twisted piece of tree branch that is lying on the side of the road like an abandoned limb. 

“Alright, sounds cool. I like Zayn, he was nice to me last night. Roman’s cool too” Louis nods his head then, shooting Harry a smile to show he’s in agreement with hanging out at Zayn’s tonight. It’ll be nice to get away from the house for a bit, and well away from the presence of bitter bridesmaids and awfully meticulous brides (and who could forget the horrid presence of a certain _someone_ ) and Louis is kind of happy to be spending time with Harry yet again away from the prying eyes of his family. 

“Okay, cool. I’ll text him later then and tell him we’re going” Harry says, that awfully infectious dimple sporting itself near his cheek and then he’s looking at Louis from the corner of his eye with the most apprehensive expression swimming in them “hey, uh, Louis?” 

“Yeah, Harry?” 

“Did I really dance on the pool table to Britney Spears?” he asks then, a mortified sort of look shadowing over his handsomeness and Louis can’t help but smirk like the Devil himself. 

“Maybe you did...maybe you didn’t. But you were terribly drunk last night, and I think I’ll leave it a mystery for you to find out. _I’m_ certainly not going to tell you the truth...or show you the pictures I took” Louis laughs as he skips away with a terribly wide grin on his face and eyes that are wrinkling with the level of his amusement. 

“I’m gonna kill you!” Harry laughs back, sprinting after Louis then with a stupid smile pulling his lips. Louis squeals then when he notices Harry chasing him, and the whole way to town they run away from the others pinches and tickles and both laugh like stupidly frivolous teenagers - and if in the back of Louis’ mind a thought settles there that tells him that this is perhaps the happiest he’s felt in _years_ , well then he pretends to not notice it. 

.

It becomes apparent, as soon as they step inside the door of Zayn’s apartment much later on in the evening when the moon has begun to show her face, that coming here has been a _big_ mistake. The fashionably interiored flat is not filled with people dancing and froclikcking like how there had been last night at Roman’s guest house, there isn’t an abundance of alcohol standing tall in necked bottles along the counter tops or deafening music blasting through speakers. 

There aren't any other people here. It’s just Zayn and Roman, and a table set up in the middle of the room with red roses and candles. It’s a double date, Louis concludes with a gulp, a fucking _double date_. 

He and Harry stand in the doorway quite awkwardly as soon as Roman opens the door with a wide grin, and Zayn who stands diligently at the stove with a cloth draped over his shoulder waves at them with a genuine smile across his devastatingly good looking face. Louis casts a glance at Harry, and he can tell by the slightly worried way he’s chewing his lip that he had no idea this night would be so romantically set either. Suddenly Louis’ ensemble of a denim shirt, black jeans and beat up Vans seems like a drab choice of outfit compared to how Zayn is decked out in all black (yet again) with perfectly styled hair and Roman who looks dashing in a red shirt and dress pants - even Harry looks remarkably casual in jeans and a white t-shirt. 

“Come in lads!” Roman greets with an ushering hand “let me take your jackets” 

Louis shrugs off his jacket to hand to Roman, and tries to stop his eyes from reverting back to the table in the middle of the room with the ivory draped cloth and candelabra in the centre and the four chairs around it. _Four_. Clearly nobody else is coming tonight. Louis can feel some sort of hard lump forming in the space between his heart and throat and he can’t seem to swallow at all with the weight of it as it sits in his chest. He glances at Harry then who shrugs and shoots him a sheepish look, almost embarrassed at having been caught in this situation, but Louis can’t help but let a little nonchalant smile creep onto his face that is intent on comforting Harry. His broad shoulders seem to settle then, like all his momentary discomfort is vanished with one look from Louis. 

“Nice place, Zayn” Harry comments as they step into the open plan flat that seems to be mostly decorated with red and black - the white marble kitchen looking like a disjointed piece of modernism against the scarlet walls and dark velvet couch. There are weirdly eclectic pieces of art hanging on the walls - one canvas that hangs there just an inferno of oranges and reds that look like the bowels of hell and Louis just blinks stupidly as he stares rather horridly at the imposing nature of it. There’s potted plants in the corners beside bookcases and small gold tables with incense holders and vinyl records on either side of the couch, and a petite grand piano rests stylishly by the open window - deep black curtains swishing in the night time breeze and embracing the instrument with a flurry each time the wind outside seems to sigh. 

It’s so dark yet homely at the same time, and Louis thinks it fits perfectly with the mysteriously broody Zayn and his rather charming boyfriend. 

“Thanks, mate. Moved in here last year after I decided I needed space from my parents” Zayn says the statement ever so casually, not even fidgeting with the weight of what that could possibly entail. He turns down the heat on the hob and walks away from whatever it is that is causing the mouth watering scent to permeate through the room, and Louis almost forgets about the lavishly romantic table setting with the way his stomach grumbles. 

He and Harry had nearly eaten their entire body weight during breakfast, but then had spent the rest of the morning traipsing through the park in town, weaving in and out of the tall, earthen giants of trees and fondly cooing over the ducks and the odd squirrel that they could spy clawing up the barks of oaks and nestling in bushes. When they’d gone back to the house Harry had stayed rooted inside the piano room, diligently practising the songs Poppy had requested from him and Louis had had no intention to sit with Harry and watch him play an instrument that constructed painful memories for him for the entirety of the evening. Instead he’d sat outside with Diana and Stevie, listening to them gossip and laugh crackling chuckles between puffs of their cigarettes - about twenty cups of tea had been consumed, a few biscuits and a lot of smokes and Louis had somehow forgotten to eat for the rest of the day. 

He’ll be grateful for the food tonight, at least, but he can’t seem to muster up the gratitude inside of himself for the roses, the scented candles or the simple jazz music that plays from somewhere and swathes the atmosphere into something so headily intimate it causes Louis’ palms to sweat. Obviously he and Zayn have a very different approach to just hanging out. Louis had assumed that tonight there’d be a few beers, maybe a few of the lads he’d met last night rowdily discussing sports or something trivial, an undulating wisp of cigarette smoke hanging around them as an Arctic Monkeys record would perhaps blare in the background. 

But this right here, this candlelit dinner that looks like it should be held on a rooftop in Paris overlooking the Eiffel Tower is something that can not be the equivalent to _hanging out_. 

It’s one thing entirely to pretend to be Harry’s boyfriend, but it’s another to be somehow jolted into this atmosphere that is entirely amourous with a _real_ couple who are actually convinced that Louis and Harry are together. Louis can’t help but feel a disembodied twinge pull somewhere near his heart, beneath his dusty chest where he buries everything, as he looks at the way Zayn saunters towards Roman and snakes an arm around his waist. 

They’re so comfortable with each other that it’s almost frightening to witness (well, it is to Louis) because these boys right here are in love, and it’s that fact that has him reeling. 

They’re boys - _both_ of them are _men_ \- and they’re in love with one another and they live here in this dark cave of modern art and classic instruments, and they probably laugh while watching movies and brush their teeth together before bed and kiss and fight and wake up next to each other with sleepy eyes and wide smiles. 

Two boys loving each other, and the world still spins within the void. The ground still rests beneath Louis’ feet and the dark sky above stays hoisted where it is, not crumbling like a cracked ceiling upon their heads. 

Having his own deepest desire and worst fear displayed to him in an outwardly vision of reality is not as scary as he had once thought, and all he can feel is a quiet sort of sadness beginning to nestle itself within his atrium. He’s full of a defiant cowardice, and he knows that he’ll probably never be brave enough to have this. 

“Hope you don’t mind all this” Zayn says as he waves towards the table behind his shoulder, dark and smoldering eyes looking at Harry and Louis who stand a few inches from one another, both a little awkward in the shadow of the couple before them. 

There’s no family members around them, no stern ex-boyfriend that they need to make jealous and Louis feels so lost right now with what he should be doing. Should he be holding Harry’s hand? Putting an arm around his waist, or tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear with a fond giggle? But then he realises that it’s not important to convince these two people of their facade, because they’re not the reason it had been constructed in the first place. 

“Oh not at all! It looks lovely” Harry compliments with a shake of his head and a smile - ever the gracious gentleman - and Louis nods along in silent agreement, despite the fact his flighty heart is singing a tune of nervousness inside of him. 

“We were going to call the lads, but then we thought it’d be nice to have another couple around for dinner. We’ve never done that before” Roman explains, ever so naturally leaning into Zayn’s touch “and I’m glad of any excuse to get Zayn to cook. He’s wonderful” 

“Oh stop it you, it’s just pasta, Ro. Everyone is good with pasta, yeah?” Zayn asks, smiling when Harry and Louis nod their heads “alright, great. You guys want a glass of wine? Red or white?” 

“White’s fine for me, mate. Thanks” Louis tells him, watching as their host squeezes his boyfriend's waist comfortingly before slinking away towards the kitchen. Roman trails off behind him, peering into a pot that is cooking away on the stove and giving it a stir with a wooden spoon and their whole vision of domesticity is enough to warm something in the pit of Louis’ stomach. 

“I’ll have white too, Zayn” Harry walks towards the couch, and whatever invisible cord that is tucked beneath his chest and attached to Louis’ now pulls gently and Louis finds himself following him without missing a beat. 

It’s almost too plush and Louis nearly sinks to the floor as he sits down, his hand blindly reaching for Harry’s knee to steady himself. Harry just shoots him a small smile, his face now embraced by the golden hue of the dim chandelier that hangs in the middle of the room and the candles that flicker upon the table. 

“I did not expect _this_ ” Harry whispers from the corner of his mouth as Louis shyly removes his hand away from him “kind of a bit awkward, no? Looks like a double date or something” 

“It _is_ a double date, Harry” Louis whispers back with a smile “remember people actually think we’re dating?” 

“Oh yeah, right. Well we must be doing a pretty convincing job of it” Harry remarks lowly, his deep voice rumbling ever so nicely to Louis’ ears and green eyes melting into Louis’ blue. 

He wants to make a joke, or smooth his transparency over with a scoff and say something like _“Yeah of course we’re good at it, it’s called acting, Harold”_ but his tongue is a dead weight in his mouth, and the lie won’t form. 

Instead he just stares back into Harry’s eyes for a moment, his ocean blues searching for secrets and buried treasure within the emerald depths that sit upon his face so beautifully like two glinting pieces of jeweled rock. He knows they’re doing a pretty damn good job of playing the part of each other's boyfriends, because somehow the line between pretending and reality has gotten obscured. Well, on Louis’ part anyway. 

He guesses he isn’t pretending to have feelings for Harry. Not when his own emotion towards him is so strong that it outweighs anything that could be considered acting. 

“Yeah, I guess we are” Louis says back, his words slow and careful but oh so truthful. 

“Hey, lovebirds! Dinner’s ready” Zayn calls then, interrupting the staring contest that had been happening on the couch and Louis tears his eyes away from Harry’s face and to the host who is now carrying two wine glasses over to the table. 

“Come on, let’s eat” Harry stands on long legs, pushing himself off the soft couch and holding out a hand to help Louis up. He takes it gratefully with a smile and can feel his heart pick up when Harry doesn’t drop it right away, holding on until they reach the table. 

.

The evening passes by pleasantly - the food is good, the wine is flowing and the company is even better. Louis learns that he really likes this eccentrically opposite couple (Zayn all fluid and calculated while Roman is ever so buoyant and skittish) and he decides that if he had become acquainted with them during different circumstances then he would have become friends with them either way. He thinks of Liam when they’re all laughing about something funny and wishes that he was here more than ever, and wishes that perhaps this really was his life - surrounded by friends, good food and his boyfriend. He sighs around the rim of his wine glass when he remembers how he’ll probably never see Zayn and Roman again after this week, and how Harry will have to lie to his lifelong friends and tell them that he and Louis broke up. 

“So what’s your story then?” Roman decides to ask Louis after the dessert plates are cleared away and he’s finished telling a story about how Zayn had first asked him to be his boyfriend ( _Right in the middle of the cinema! Just leaned over during Jurassic World and asked me! I couldn’t even concentrate on Chris Pratt after that!”_ Roman had laughed. _“Yeah, that’s why I asked you, because you were focused on some movie star instead of me”_ Zayn had quipped while slinging an arm around his shoulders _“always knew you’d be mine though, even when we were younger”_ ) 

“What do you mean?” Louis questions confusedly with a cocked head, his wine glass hanging in his hand half empty and in desperate need of a refill. He’s pleasantly buzzed now, and he quite enjoys the floaty feeling that is coursing through his body and making his limbs feel deliciously heavy. Harry is pretty much the same from beside him, smiling constantly and eyeing Louis with that gooey look in his green eyes that makes Louis want to either kiss his stupid lips or throw himself from Zayn’s window. 

“Your story? You know, like how did you guys meet? How did you know Harry was the one?” Roman asks with a wistful sigh, body scooting closer to Zayn and looking at Louis with wide blue eyes from across the table. 

“Oh right...uh...we met at university” Louis says, looking to his side where Harry sits, awkwardly hunched over his wine glass and nodding in agreement. 

Louis is fairly certain he’s a little drunk, but he can still feel the awkward tension between them and the slight tremor of nervousness that hangs in the air. This is where they could be caught out, because not once have they ever rehearsed a back story or spun some ridiculously romantic fairy tale about their first meeting, or come up with any stories about dates and who asked the other out first. Louis can feel himself sweat a little around the collar, and the other two boys wait patiently across the table - Zayn’s dark eyes swallowing the rest of Louis’ confidence into their dark pits. 

“Oh we know that much!” Roman laughs after a swig of his red wine “but come on, give us all the romantic details, Louis. We want to hear it” 

His mind whirls with possible tales he could tell, but he’s too tipsy to articulate anything imaginative and he’s afraid he’ll mess up somehow and catch himself out in a lie. The truth should settle it then, and Louis can feel the looseness of his lips and the drunkenness of his mind as he begins to speak, and all the while a pair of green eyes watch him. 

“Okay, right well uh, we first met at the theatre on campus, term was only started and I really wanted to join the theatre group so I went along to an audition. Harry was there auditioning for the orchestra and, uh, I’d never met him before, you see, but we kind of bumped into each other in the toilets” Louis smiles at the memory “I was walking out and he was walking in and we just collided and I dunno….I looked at him for a minute, and I swear it sounds so cheesy but I forgot everything in that second. My name, why I was even at the theatre, how to breathe. I just looked at him, and I knew _something_. I didn’t even know what yet, I just knew that I felt something for him. When you know, you know, right? I rushed out of there as fast as I could then, I uh, had a girlfriend at the time and I just didn’t want to have feelings for anyone else, you know? So I just avoided him any chance I got, at parties, on campus, at the theatre when we’d rehearse. I did it because I knew that if I was to even just talk to him, or be in his presence that I’d fall for him and I just couldn’t allow myself to. But it didn’t fucking work at all because I still fell for him” 

“Oh my god, that’s beautiful” Roman sniffs, looking between Louis and Harry with soft, watery eyes and a hand on his chest. Even Zayn who is normally so cool and collected is fondly staring at the two boys before him, a glimmering sheen of romanticism in his muddy eyes. 

But Harry, my word, it’s Harry’s face that has Louis’ heart crashing against his chest like the battering seas against cliffs. He’s looking at Louis with a slightly open mouth, disbelief and pure adoration mixing correspondingly in his eyes like he’s trying to decide whether to believe the words that have just tumbled from Louis’ mouth or to be sensible and think that they’re just made up purely to sell their lie. One side of his face is shadowed by the curtain of nightfall that sneaks its way into the apartment to cloak the space in darkness, and the other is burning amber with the flames that lick and spit in the candelabra and he looks like a painting - so perfectly angled and made with gentle brush strokes that jump so vividly at Louis that he can’t seem to look away. 

“Uh, yeah that’s pretty much it. Now we’re together” Louis says with a cough, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Harry and towards the other two boys. He can still feel his electric green gaze poke holes in his soul and can feel the tangible shift in the atmosphere between them. He brings his wine glass up to his mouth with a shaky hand and downs the rest of its contents. 

“Was it the same moment for you too, Harry? When you realised Louis was the one?” Zayn asks then, and it takes a delayed second for Harry to answer him, his eyes still trained on the side of Louis’ face. 

“Yeah, that was pretty much it for me too. I was gone for him after that” his voice is nearly a whisper, and Louis really has to try and convince himself not to look at him - because he knows that if he looks at Harry and sees any truth in his expression, any honesty in his eyes then it will completely break him and he’ll have nothing left inside of him but a gaping hole that will never be filled. 

“That’s just lovely” Roman coos gently, reaching his hand across the table for an unopened bottle of white “you’ve made me all emotional, anyone want another drink? I sure need one now after that” 

Both Harry and Louis shoot their glasses across the table then in an almost desperate hurry, both wanting nothing more than to drown their honesty with wine. 

.

The moon is a winking crescent in the sky when Louis and Harry eventually trail out of Zayn’s apartment, stuffed with food and blood supply spectacularly riddled with alcohol. They wave goodbye to the two boys who walk them right out to the front door of the tudor style apartment building, arms wrapped around one another and calling after their guests that they’ll have to do this again sometime. Louis tries not to think of the fact that he and Harry will probably never be on a double date with these lads again because they’re not, you know, an actual couple or anything. 

Louis just trails behind Harry, giggling at nothing and stumbling over the laces of his Vans. He’s completely buzzing now, head foggy and alive with the tremor of wine that flows through him and he’s at that drunk stage where he believes the world is magnificent enough to cry over, and that everything he can see is beautiful and amazing. He tells Harry as much when the taller lad sighs and bends down to tie Louis’ laces, cursing as his clumsy fingers fumble with the strings and Louis just tilts his head back to stare at the shadow of the moon. 

It’s glinting a brilliant silver, lighter around the edges and descending into stony grey as the sky cloaks the rest of it in shadowy wisps of delicate clouds. 

“I’m so drunk right now” Louis laughs at Harry as he stands and wobbles on his legs “they had so much wine, Harry. So much” 

“I know, Lou. We drank most of it” Harry comments, swinging his arms by his sides as they skip down the path. Town is quiet and still, despite the fact that it isn’t that late out, and their route is littered with the golden hue of lights that beam out of the small thatched houses and in the near distance a small corner shop greets them with a flickering green sign that reads _OPEN_ in blinking letters. 

“Hey, you wanna get even more drunk?” Louis asks excitedly, gripping Harry’s elbow in both hands as he stops in his tracks. 

“How?” Harry asks slowly, eyes lazily drooping down to Louis’ hands that are gripping the black wool of his coat. 

“Let’s go, come on” Louis says as he drags Harry towards the small shop, both their feet horridly clumsy with the effects of the wine. 

The shop is crammed with shelves that contain tins of biscuits and tea bags, bread and boxes of cereal and in the corner a fridge buzzes brokenly, housing milk and cans of beer. It smells of bleach and old newspapers - the air completely stuffy with the weak vent that whirs above them. They barrage inside in a swarm of limbs and giggles, and the teenager behind the counter eyes them disapprovingly as Harry knocks into a postcard stand by the door, his eyes narrowing at them as they tipsily swan towards the back shelf that dusty bottles of wine sit on. 

Louis grabs the first bottle of white that he can see, a green sticker across the front telling him that it’s only eight pounds. Cheap, yet it’ll do the job nicely when it mixes with all the other alcohol in his body. They both can’t stop laughing at one another as they amble towards the counter, Harry letting his hands grip onto any part of Louis’ body that he can - strong fingers ghosting across his shoulder, under his jacket to grip onto his waist or snaking around his wrists. It’s causing Louis to become drunk in a different way. 

Louis pays for the wine with a crumpled tenner that had sat in his jacket pocket, and when they stumble back out into the night they’re embraced by the chill that is pleasant against their skin compared to the choked stuffiness of the small corner shop. They end up opening the bottle as they walk down the winding country road that leads back to the Styles Estate, passing it back and forth and trading jokes and pieces of nonsensical conversation. 

Louis knows, in the part of his mind that is still clinging to sober reason, that he and Harry have settled into some weird undiscussed agreement where they both have decided to get drunk to push down the stifling truths they had shared at dinner. Somehow Louis thinks that the more he drinks, the further his words can be buried, but he knows it’s not going to help. The wine will wear off and the sun will come up and the truth will still be the truth - no amount of cheap alcohol can change that. 

They end up stumbling through the gates of the large estate fifteen minutes later, both their feet heading towards the gardens and towards the maze. 

It’s where they find themselves now, lying right in the epicentre of the intricately designed labrinth (it’s a miracle they had even made it to the middle without getting lost) surrounded by dark hedges and white and pink roses that are weaved among the vines, and both boys are now looked down upon by the crescent moon and her stars. 

“Don’t you just love the stars?” Louis asks Harry then after he wraps his lips around the neck of the large bottle and takes a swig. 

“Yeah, they’re so pretty” Harry mumbles absently, hand reaching for the bottle and eyes intent with looking at the twinkling pieces of astronomical rock that are freckled against the deep navy blanket of sky. 

“How should we like it were stars to burn, with a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, let the more loving one be me” Louis quotes with a drunkenly wistful sigh, blue eyes tearing from the sky and over to Harry who lies on the dusty ground beside him. 

“That’s beautiful, who said that?” Harry asks him, his own eyes falling upon Louis’ face and staying there. 

“Wystan Auden” Louis tells him, his mouth moving with words and his mind quite lost - wondering how he can pluck poetry from his mind when it is so inebriated “he’s an amazing poet. I read one of his poems when I was younger and I just fell in love with literature. I knew then that I wanted to become an English teacher” 

“Do you remember the poem?” Harry asks, the contents of the bottle sloshing as he moves it up to his mouth. He takes a hearty swig and passes it back to Louis. 

“Yeah, I remember it” Louis says with a slow nod as he lets his eyes trace the wetness of Harry’s wine soaked lips. Maybe he should just kiss him instead of drinking from the bottle? Perhaps he’ll still get drunk that way. 

“Tell me some?” Harry asks with a smile, a dimple pocketing near his mouth like the very craters that are dented in the face of the moon that hangs above them. Louis waits breathlessly for a minute, his heart clenching in his chest and his eyes locked onto Harry’s face with the sheer magnetism that he feels for him. He’s drawn to him like how the moon is drawn to waves, how a compass directs a ship, how a rope grounds an anchor - he’s inexplicably pulled towards him with a force that is completely out of either of their controls. 

“He was my North, my South, my East and West…” Louis begins in a desperate whisper as he tears his eyes away from Harry and turns them towards the sky “my working week and my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song. I thought that love would last forever. I was wrong” 

“I was wrong?” Harry mumbles with a crumpled brow “that’s sad, no?” 

“Yeah, it’s sad” Louis agrees after swigging a mouthful of wine “it’s about someone who loses the love of their life, and how the world isn’t the same without them. How the stars are useless now, and how he wishes they’d just disappear. It’s about how life isn’t worth it without love, and I dunno, it’s just always stuck with me, especially when I’m not very brave about things that I want” 

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asks him as he turns his head to look at him, his long wild hair fanning around his face. 

“I dunno, sometimes I feel like I’m living someone else’s life, like I’m not really living the way I should. But I’m too afraid to change it because I’m scared of what might happen, and who I might become” Louis sighs heavily, feeling like he could sink into the maze floor with the weight of it “You ever wish you could run away, Harry? Go to a place where nobody knows you? So you can maybe just start all over again and just be…. _yourself_ and no one else? Have you ever felt like that?” 

“I used to, when I was younger. I used to think there was something wrong with me, you know? That I was fucked up in the head for liking the boys in my school, or for wanting something everyone else thought was wrong” Harry confesses almost bitterly “I used to care so much about what other people thought, my grandfather, my friends, my teachers. I wanted to be someone else, but then I just thought what’s the point in wishing to be another person or wanting to think differently because it’s never going to change. You can torture yourself every day for the rest of your life, or you can just start living it, you know? You get one life, Louis, you might as well just be as happy as you can be” 

“I feel like running away all the time, because I don’t know how to be myself. I’ve always been so scared of it” Louis mutters, feeling his drunkenness stir inside of him a flurry of confused emotions. He isn’t sure why he’s saying what he’s saying, or if Harry can understand what he means when he talks about his fear of being himself. Of giving in to who he really is. 

“I’d run away with you, Lou” Harry whispers “I’d forget everything with you” 

If Harry only knew how much Louis would like to run away from everything with him - how he’d love to hide within the darkness with him and never again emerge into the daylight. How he’d love to just forget the world and its existence with Harry by his side and allow nothing but him to fill his mind and heart. His back stiffens against the ground when Harry leans up on his elbow to look down at him with his forest green gaze, and suddenly the moon becomes meagre in her existence compared to the beautiful light inside Harry’s eyes. 

“You would?” Louis asks him breathlessly, shaking when Harry’s fingers come to ghost over his cheekbones. He isn’t sure how this has happened - how their evening has shifted from stupid giggles and nonsensical stories to quoting poetry beneath the stars and to Harry touching him so delicately. Louis’ heart is battering against his chest, thrumming against his insides and causing his ribs to ache with the reverberating pounding of it and his mind is whirling so drunkenly right now that he feels he might be sick. 

“I would. I’d run away with you if you asked me to” Harry’s whisper feathers against Louis’ skin as it leaves his mouth, and he stares up at Harry with wide blue eyes that are almost afraid to blink. He fears that if he does then he’ll be woken up “I think I’d do anything for you, Louis, and it kind of scares me” 

“I’m scared too. All the time” Louis croaks out, trembling hands gripping onto the front of Harry’s jacket as if to stop him from leaning in any further. His eyes are on Louis’ lips, and his whole mouth dries up when he tilts his head of dark curls downwards. Louis gently pushes against his chest, but the action is weak and Harry mustn’t feel it because he leans down even more, the tendrils of his sweet smelling hair tickling Louis' face. 

“You don’t need to be scared, Louis. Not with me” Harry mutters, lips dangerously close to Louis’ jaw and all he can do is stay stone still against the ground with a mind that is warring inside of him - one part of it wanting him to fight off his desire for Harry and push him away, while the other one wants nothing more than to kiss him. He can feel the soft tickle of Harry’s breath fan against his neck as it leaves the soft pillows of his lips, and in one weak moment Louis lets his eyelids flutter closed and a sigh to escape him that comes from deep inside the cavity of his chest where his heart is thumping maddeningly. 

Harry had said not to be afraid with him, but Louis wants to tell him that the whole point of him being afraid is because it’s Harry that makes him feel a slight sense of fear. Because Harry is the single most amazing and beautiful person he’s ever met, because the story he’d told tonight about meeting him had been true - that he’d never felt anything for another person the way he had felt for Harry during that first time locking eyes with him in the dingy theatres toilets. He wants to tell him that he’s scared because Harry does things to him that confuses and terrifies him, how he contests the very parts of Louis that he had thought he’d meticulously buried within. He wants to tell him that he had always avoided him during parties and rehearsals and had dived away whenever he’d spot him talking to Liam on campus because he knew then and he knows now that if he ever so much as tumbled into causal conversation with him that he’d be thrown deep down into a pit of feelings he’d never get out of. 

All that avoidance and lying to himself had done no good in the end - because here he is, lying under the stars and under Harry with his lips pressed to Louis’ neck and their hearts beating against each other. 

“You’re so beautiful, Louis” Harry mutters against his jaw, soft lips feathering against his pulse point and Louis’ insides turn to mush at his words, and he suddenly realises that he’s arching into Harry’s touch, one leg wrapped around the back of Harry’s thighs to hold him against him. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why his body is doing any of this when his mind is screaming at him to stop. 

“Harry” Louis sighs when Harry’s warm hand slides up his hip and to his waist, his palm pleasantly scratching against the bare skin that is revealed as his shirt rides up. He’s so utterly confused at the moment, mind pounding against his head as it tries to come up with a conclusion of how exactly this has happened. A moment ago they’d been talking, and now they’re here, lying with each other and almost kissing. 

“So, so beautiful” Harry whispers just before placing his lips on Louis’. 

It’s soft and sweet at first, and a little fearful - both of them not giving in to the very poignant desire that has settled between them but choosing to be careful. But when Harry nestles himself further between Louis’ legs and grips his jaw with a strong hand, it takes all of his willpower not to crumble then and there. He’s nearly frozen beneath him and it seems that the only thing that now works in his body is his heart that is crashing against his ribs almost painfully - his mind has now become utterly useless and he can’t seem to find his thoughts, almost as if they have sunk down to the bottom of the now quiet ocean of his conscious. 

He starts to kiss Harry back, his lips moving wetly against his and his shaking hands run over his shoulders to tangle in his hair, and the groan that Harry lets out against Louis’ mouth is enough for him to pull him closer. Oh god, he’s wanted this for the longest time, and although he has felt weak every time he’s imagined it, the reality is nothing compared to what he had dreamt up. 

Harry’s body is strong against his but his lips are so gentle, and his tongue is sweet and it tastes like wine and Louis can feel the ground spin under his back as his mind whirls dizzyingly. His leg starts to slip from around Harry but before it does a large hand grips his thigh to keep it there, and he wiggles his body against Louis’ to get situated more comfortably, and oh _fuck_ , when he does he sets a fire somewhere in Louis’ lower belly and he has to choke down a groan. 

He isn’t sure how long they’re kissing for, but somewhere along the way the gentleness has vanished and in its wake is a passionate dance of lips and tongues, and roaming hands. Harry’s are now busy exploring Louis’ body, one hand rubbing Louis’ waist under his shirt and the other squeezing up and down his thigh. Louis can’t stop playing with his hair, loving how when he tugs it gently it gets soft sighs from Harry’s lips. 

He wishes he could keep their lips together for eternity but Harry slides his off of Louis’, pecking him softly once before trailing them down to mouth wetly as his jaw. It causes a fluttering of butterflies to erupt in Louis’ stomach at the feel of his tongue against his skin. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you” Harry pants against his neck, his hips slyly circling against Louis’ “It’s been so hard pretending with you this whole time, Lou. When all I’ve wanted is for it to be real” 

He pulls away from Louis’ neck, giving it one last shivering bite and wet lick of his tongue, and hovers over him to stare down into his eyes. Louis feels his heart squeeze agonizingly in his chest at the sight of him - so beautiful with his wet, swollen lips, so handsome with his messy hair that Louis’ hands are still wound in. 

His eyes are aglow with the silvery light of the moon, and the green is flecked with pieces of amber that are so prominent now that Louis is staring at him and the night time shadows itself on his majestically handsome face like it wants to kiss over his beauty and nothing else. Those wondrous structures and monumental pieces of art that are scattered around the world are not nearly as deserving in their appreciation when there are colossally beautiful things like Harry. 

Lying under him, staring at his wild hair crowning his face and his pouty lips, Louis comes to the conclusion that he looks like the most enchanting thing ever. He absolutely _adores_ him. 

Suddenly Louis feels something in his chest tug painfully like someone’s hand has just reached inside of him to squeeze his heart. His mind races to grapple with reality and he can’t remember how to breathe properly, and suddenly soberness is thrown on him like a whirlwind. 

Is this not what falling in love feels like? 

Those small romanticized moments poets and scholars have immortalised in classic prose are now suddenly before him in all their terrifying glory. Harry looks down at him and smiles, and Louis feels his heart lurch inside of him when he begins to lean down for another kiss. 

He can’t do this - he can’t fucking breathe anymore - and his mind is doing flips inside his skull and his heart is going to wear itself out if it keeps thumping like how it is. He’s given in to his desires tonight, and he shouldn’t have, he knew he shouldn’t have. 

It’s one thing to kiss another boy, to kiss Harry - but realising you might be in love with them is another, more terrifying concept. He can’t be in love with Harry because if he is, then he’s just going to be thrown into an oblivion of darkness that he’ll never recover from. 

“Harry, stop. I can’t…I’m sorry” Louis pushes against his chest, wriggling out from under him “we have to stop, we’re drunk...and this doesn’t even mean anything” 

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, because they’re a downright lie, but also because Harry’s face falls like the crumbling slope of a mountainside. Louis stands on wobbly legs from the ground and pushes his shirt back down, a red blush now swarming his face as he turns around to look at the boy he had just kissed fiercely - the boy he’s now yet again running away from instead of towards.

“Doesn’t mean anything?” Harry repeats slowly as he stands from the ground, his legs more stable than Louis’. His green eyes are set on Louis’ face, some sort of quiet fury bubbling inside of them. 

“We’ve drank a lot, Harry, and we should just stop before…” Louis weakly argues, waving a hand around since he can’t even bring himself to finish his sentence. He can’t even bring himself to look at Harry. _You love him_ , he can hear a voice sneer inside of him, _how pathetic_ “before we do something we regret”

“You think I’d regret anything with you?” Harry whispers in the dark “I regret every moment that I’m not kissing you. I’ve been crazy about you since the first time I met you in those fucking toilets! Do you have any idea how much I’ve gone out of my mind thinking about you since then? Do you have any idea how much I want you?” 

“Harry, don’t please” Louis backs away then as soon as Harry starts to move forward “I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I was wrong to” 

He can’t let him come near him, or touch him again because Louis knows that if he does then his defenses will crumble completely and he’ll be broken into nothing. He’s not ready to give himself away like that, to be held by Harry so passionately or to even admit to himself that that’s what he wants. He can’t allow himself the possibility of falling into Harry’s arms because he knows deep down that he really does love him, and it’s come on him all of a sudden so frighteningly that the only response he knows is how to run and hide. This want that he has inside of him for Harry is a horrid, dark ache that rests permanently beside his heart. It’s an urge of desperate wanting, but he won’t give into it. 

He can’t. Not today. Maybe not ever. 

“I get it, yeah? It was wrong to kiss me back, whatever, Lou” Harry bitterly says “I’ll leave you alone then. I’m gonna go for a walk” 

“Harry, just...please don’t be angry with me. Don’t be like that, alright? I couldn’t bear it” Louis pleads desperately, heart crashing in his chest with the horrid thought that perhaps he’s just ruined this - that any chance of solid friendship between them has now been broken. 

“I'm not angry with you, Louis” Harry defeatedly sighs, running a hand through his messy hair “I’m angry with myself for ever thinking you’d want me back” 

Louis just stands there as Harry disappears within the dark expanse of the maze, one hand shoved in his jacket pocket and the other clutching the bottle of wine. Louis feels desperately lost then, cursing himself for always giving in to fear and letting it control his life, wishing that he could just listen to his heart instead of the ruling thoughts in his head. 

He must stand there in the middle of the maze for ages before he moves towards the house - his heart now painfully echoing in his chest, and his lips left cold by the haunting ghost of Harry’s kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me! I know you guys were waiting for a kiss and I just had to go and make this angsty! But good things are coming, don't you worry your pretty heads  
> Much love  
> Taylor x


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely people! Hope everyone is still enjoying the story, and hope you also enjoy the new chapter. 
> 
> Also, I want to note that this story deals with an obvious case of internalized homophobia and the struggle of coming to terms with one's sexuality. It is a hard thing to realise for some people, and obviously it's been hard for this fictional version of Louis. But just because I write passages that describe being uncomfortable with who you are, doesn't mean I agree with or want anyone feeling ashamed about their sexuality. I just wanted to explore that narrative in writing, and to write about the trouble your mind can go through. Trust me, I'm a 23 year old closeted lesbian, and I'm a Child Educator and I feel sometimes that I won't be taken seriously in my profession or respected as much because of who I am, and I live in a tiny town in Ireland guys. A Catholic town, that is very old fashioned and people here always make fun of gay people. So that's why I wanted to write this story, to hopefully get my own thoughts out through a Larry fic. So yeah, I don't think being gay is wrong (obviously). I want everyone to know I love and accept people for who they are ( gay or straight or whatever you are ) I really just wanted to explore the scary side someone can go through dealing with who they are after years of childhood trauma and subjected homophobia, and I hope that I've been doing a good job of it? I don't know. Anyway, enjoy the chapter, enjoy your life and love yourself.  
> All the love, Taylor x

_**The pain I don't say out loud,** _

_**builds a home inside me** _

_**\- Olivia Gatwood** _

Louis wakes the next morning, cold and alone, and with a horrid pain beneath his chest. The white sheets that are tangled amongst his sweating limbs seem to be swallowing him whole, drowning his body in a sea of waves that are bound to choke him. He blinks the sunlight from his eyes as they rip open slowly, stuck together with dried tears, and heavy with lack of sleep. 

He had sat awake last night, perched on the edge of the bed with frozen limbs and an insistent mind that had been hell bent on torturing him with the snippets of memories that will now forever be imprinted onto the softness of Louis’ brain. Memories of Harry’s body pressed to his, so warm and heavy like pure comfort. Memories of his soft mouth, so gentle yet passionate and the taste of his wine soaked tongue against his. 

And his _words_. The things he had said to Louis last night had been the making of his own destruction - because Harry’s words were what had lived inside his mind like a never ending headache that just kept pounding and knocking against his skull so much that he couldn’t even sleep. 

_I think I’d do anything for you, Louis, and it kind of scares me._

He can feel the dormant heart beneath his ribs pick up like the soft swell of waves that are ready to batter the helpless coast as Harry’s echoing words swim around his head. He feels his chest shudder with a silent sob, and he has to shut his eyes again - tightly - to keep the tears at bay. 

_It’s been so hard pretending with you this whole time, Lou. When all I’ve wanted is for it to be real._

He can feel them now, those salty traitor tears pour quietly from his closed eyes to trail along the round plains of his cheeks and tickle his lips like the haunting absence of a kiss. A kiss he had wished for, a kiss he’d been granted and one he had shoved away from. A sudden barrage of shame courses through him at the memory of how wanting he’d been when he’d first kissed Harry, how ready his mouth and body were to accept him - and how quickly he had abandoned his own mind, allowing it to sink beneath the abysmal depths of metaphorical dust. 

_I regret every moment that I’m not kissing you….Do you have any idea how much I want you?_

He has to pull the covers over his head to muffle the cry that he lets out, so broken and raspy and full of unshed anguish. His tears are the bitter kind, salty on his tongue and cold upon his skin, and he can _taste_ the frustration, the years of bottled up and internalized hatred and the shame that comes with being who he is. 

Because it’s never been acceptable to be who he is - not to his father, not to himself and he’s afraid of all those other people who lay in wait within the obsidian shadows that will mock his very being. 

But underneath the wrongful shame, there is an impatient flutter that rests beneath his heart, a silent sort of anger at himself for never allowing those cocooned emotions to take the front seat, and he lies here in bed, crying to himself and not knowing how to feel. He’s just so _confused_ , because now all of a sudden he knows how it feels to have Harry’s body on top of his, his husky voice whispering into his ear, his hands on his waist...and his lips on his. 

It’s not just a little flicker of imagination that he can feel embarrassed for thinking, something that he can push down deep in the crevice of repression that lives inside his mind like a gaping hole. Louis kissing Harry is not a figment of a dream anymore, because it had been his reality last night. He’d _kissed_ Harry Styles, actually kissed him and he probably would have allowed him to let his hands roam further if he hadn’t been so scared. If he hadn’t been so ashamed of himself. 

He groans angrily now between sobs, and frustratedly kicks out at the sheets with each heavy intake of breath, because he doesn’t know what to do. He can easily slip within the darkness again, to let it take a hold of him and swallow him beneath its black waves of never ending dullness where he’ll forever be stuck inside a closet - a choking space of internalized homophobia where he’ll never be allowed to breathe clean air. 

But Harry _wants_ him, actually wants Louis _for real_ and not just to pretend, and _oh_ , Louis wants him too. 

He wants to hold him close, and kiss his temples, to run his fingers through his hair and tell him how much he loves his green eyes and the hollows in his cheeks and the way he smells like summer, and how his clumsiness and horrible jokes just add to his endearing charm. He wants to kiss his lips again like he had last night, and this time they won’t taste like cheap wine. He wants to taste him after he brushes his teeth in the mornings and before bed, after he drinks coffee and takes a cheeky drag from Louis’ cigarette and after he chews obnoxiously on strawberries and watermelon at the breakfast table. 

_I’m not angry with you, Louis. I’m angry with myself for ever thinking you’d want me back._

Oh, if Harry only knew how much Louis wants him too. But cowardice still sneaks inside of him like a parasite, and it joins up with the years of shame that rest in the casket of childhood memories that is buried in the cemetery of his past. He sighs then, heavy and glum, and his ribs creak beneath his body like battered and crippled stairs in an old house. He sits up, body feeling like it has millions of mottled bruises resting on the surface of his bones, and the clothes he had fallen asleep in feel like a suffocating weight upon his skin.

Louis had sat up waiting for Harry until the light had begun to peak out from behind the dark clouds and his body could no longer sit upright. But he’d never come back to their room, and Louis had sat breathlessly at the edge of the bed when he’d heard slow footsteps trail along the corridor outside - but they’d gone all the way down the hallway to Gemma’s room and the final click of her door had sounded deafening within the cave of dullness that Louis awaited in. He’d fallen asleep beneath the covers then, fully clothed and with a choking sob aching to break through the dam of his lips. That same bubbling sadness threatens to swarm him again right now, and he swipes furiously at his wet eyes as he sets his shoulders determinedly. He won’t cry anymore. 

He’s weak and cowardly, and he doesn’t deserve the right to cry. 

There’s a heavy weight in his chest when he shudders at the way his pathetic tears batter behind his eyelids like raindrops, aching to be shed upon his face but he won’t let them, and there’s a ghost of a sigh that has pocketed itself within his lungs that now trembles from inside of him with the desire to be let out. 

Sometimes, he wishes he could just be brave enough to admit out loud to himself and to others the deepest desires that are buried inside his delicate heart. 

He could bound over to the window, open the stiff white latch and shout out at the top of his lungs his own admittance to his true nature. His words could take flight like the robins and swallows that sit perched upon trees, they could run buttery and soft against the sun kissed sky and waver all the way to the green velvet horizon. 

But they don’t, his words stay stuck inside his windpipe like a thick cloud of smoke that he can’t stop choking on. 

The words are dancing on the tip of his tongue, and they have been waltzing there for years, but it’s just so damn hard to say it when he has all this past that rests on his shoulders - heavy and back breaking, making the ripples of his spine crack and his knees weaken under their weight. 

His own sister doesn’t know who he really is - every time she phones him or texts him a chirpy good morning or a drunken slur, every time she Skypes him, every time he’s face to face with her and the magnificent blue of her eyes is staring right at him, Louis is caught up with the notion that she doesn’t know who her own brother is. 

Liam doesn’t know Louis all that well either. Liam, who Louis has shared a bed with. Liam, who he has laughed with over silly jokes at three in the morning, and gotten stoned with on his building's rooftop. Liam, who has rested his head on Louis’ shoulder when he’s drunk and tired. Liam, who has linked his arm with Louis’ so casually while walking on busy streets. Liam, who is his best mate, doesn’t fucking know who Louis really is. How would he react if he knew the truth? Would he feel disgusted that he’s slept beside Louis after nights out, both passed out beside the other with sweaty hair and naked chests? Would he be horrified to know that his best mate had kissed another bloke last night? 

He thinks of his football team then, and all the lads who have knocked elbows with him out in the field and laughed hysterically with him in the stadium's dressing rooms. Those lads who he’s trained with relentlessly, who he’s won league matches with and who he’s proud to call his teammates don’t have any idea what kind of person Louis really is. 

Even his own mother had had no idea, and that’s what kills Louis the most.

The thought that his Mum had died before ever finding out, before she’d ever gotten to readily accept him like Louis knows she would have, absolutely eats him alive. He knows that if she was still here, or if he had just gotten the chance to tell her before she had left him forever, then his mind would not be this horribly dark place that wind whistles through and ghosts howl in. His father had made sure that Louis had always felt ashamed for who he is, so much that it had caused years of subconscious suppression and utter self hatred to replace any and all memories of his mother’s graciously embracing nature. 

Sometimes, he imagines her face and how the wrinkles would appear near her eyes when she smiled, how the light in her eyes would sparkle like the freckled stars in the night sky. Louis imagines that she’d smile the same way if he had a chance to sit her down and tell her. He’d start off by saying something like _“Mum, there’s a boy, and his name is Harry”_ and she’d hug him and kiss his fluffy hair and tell him that she loves him, and how that will never change. 

But his Mum can’t smile anymore, or laugh, or kiss him. She’ll never hear the truth, or listen to Louis ramble on about how beautiful Harry is or see him be truly happy. But it makes no difference because he’s not happy even now, not really, deep down his soul is rotted black with misery and he has no idea how to save it. His wonderful mother, who had been two parents in one, will never get to tell him that it’s okay to be who he is, because she’s lying mutely in a coffin, buried beneath six feet of Doncaster dirt. The missing validation that he needs, is the one he’ll never get. 

He pulls a hand through his hair then and tugs roughly, as if the action will rid his current flow of torment. 

Oh how he wishes he could be brave so he could say things like “ _Hey, I’m Louis, and I like boys. I like_ **_boys_ ** _. I like_ **_Harry_ ** _. I think I might love Harry”_ But the words get swamped down with all the other dense, murky thoughts and they won’t form sensically and the weight on his chest gets heavier and heavier until he feels like he can’t breathe. 

He stands up from the bed then, on wobbly legs, and that’s when he sees it. 

A white, rectangular envelope sits upon Harry’s pillow, and on the front is a thickly written _LOUIS_. It’s in all capitals, each letter spaced out carefully, and the writing is black and smudged a little where the pen must have dug into the paper. There’s a few scribbled harsh lines under his name, and Louis knows that whoever wrote this (and he has a fairly good idea who) had clearly been angry and hurt. He picks it up with shaking fingers, his mind whirling with the thought that Harry must have slipped in here during the early hours of the morning when the sky was an inky blank canvas of shadowed grey to place this on the pillow beside him. 

He tears open the seal carefully, not wanting to damage what is inside, and when he plucks the folded paper out from the smudged envelope he nearly collapses on the spot with how forceful the slap of reality is that whirls across his face like a quick palm. 

Inside is a cheque, with his own name printed at the top in rushed lettering and at the bottom is a scribbled signature that reads _Harry Styles_. Louis has to suck in a harsh breath when he lets his eyes drop to the bottom, because etched onto a dotted line is a four figured number - a ridiculous amount of money - and cold pools of dread fill his stomach and coat his tongue in an acrid taste that he can’t get rid of no matter how many times he swallows down thickly. 

It almost reads like a bitter finality, that this whole thing that has happened between him and Harry (whatever he has convinced himself it is) is now over, because he’s just been _paid_. This whole time he has ignored the very poignant fact that he had agreed to this whole thing after Harry himself had suggested paying him. It hadn’t seemed like a problem then, but somehow being here with Harry and his family and falling in love with him had allowed that factor to take a backseat in his mind. 

Here now, staring at a cheque that almost amounts to a month's rent, it feels like he’s just been woken up from a dream and straight into a nightmare. 

He’s whirling on his feet before he even registers what he’s doing, the thin white envelope clutched in his fist. He flings open the bedroom door and treads with bounding footsteps down the wide staircase, and each dull thud of his shoes slapping against the marble reverberates off the walls and swims around inside his head as if to remind him how desolate and empty his heart is. 

Harry is in the piano room, the soft trickle of the notes that permeates the air with classicism is what draws Louis towards the open doors. He sits at the large black instrument, head bowed towards the keys with a pencil chewed between his lips and every now and again he’ll flicker his eyes towards a crumpled stack of sheets that rest against the shiny music rack. The floor to ceiling windows are casting the sun's golden hue against Harry’s skin, and for a moment Louis is transfixed to the spot after he storms into the room. Harry really is the most beautiful boy Louis has ever seen, and those lips that are puffed out frustratedly around the tip of a yellow pencil had been on Louis’ last night. The memory of kissing him - which is a memory that has been living in his mind all night like the pestering of a poltergeist - now rears up inside of him with a newfound ferocity. 

That long, curling hair that tickles against his cheekbones so softly is the same hair Louis had his hands in while lying on the maze’s floor, and those pouty lips had left wet trails on his neck and face and as he stands in the doorway he can almost feel the imprinted memories etch themselves onto his skin. He can feel the ghost of Harry’s touch, and the lingering echo of his kiss. 

His moment of beatific studying ends then when Harry raises his eyes to meet Louis’, and suddenly his reason for storming here burns hot in his hands, and he balls up the cheque even more. 

“What is this?” Louis asks, footsteps leaden as he trails nervously towards the boy he had willingly kissed last night. 

“It’s a cheque, Louis. Have you never seen one?” Harry questions glumly after he plucks the pencil from his mouth, and after a moment of subjecting his glaring green gaze onto Louis’ face he drops his eyes to look at his music sheets. For a moment there’s nothing but the sounds of Harry’s pencil scratching against paper and the sporadic rush of Louis’ breath. 

“I know what it is....I meant why did you leave it for me?” Louis steps forward, the cheque lamely brandishing in his hand. Harry looks at him then, his brilliant eyes that are soaking up the sunlight and turning the lightest shade of green seem to burn right through Louis’ soul. A flicker of hurt shadows over his face that causes his bottom lip to tremble ever so traitorously, and then the look is gone and he’s pushing himself away from the piano on long legs. 

“Louis, this was the arrangement from the start, alright?” Harry says quietly, casting his eyes over Louis’ shoulder and to the door as if to make sure nobody is listening “you being paid to _pretend_ , and I think you’ve more than earned it”

All words seem to lodge in Louis’ throat, frozen and clogging his windpipe with air that he can’t seem to breathe out. Harry stares across to him, eyes sad with longing but his jaw set tightly like he’s trying his hardest not to break. Louis can see it in him, the embarrassment he feels facing Louis, knowing how they had kissed and knowing how Louis had rejected him. 

Louis can feel it too, that trembling nervousness that is snaking its way through his body and causing his limbs to stop working. He’s frozen in place with the whiplash memory of kissing Harry, and being here, face to face, is making a concoction of emotions swirl inside of him. 

“Harry...if this is about last night...I’m sorry” Louis feels useless as he drops his eyes from the boy in front of him and to the shoes he had slept in last night. He’s sure he looks like a right mess, slept in and crumpled clothes and hair that’s sticking everywhere - not to mention his eyes that are all dried up from crying. 

“You were right, Louis” Harry looks away from him then and sets his jaw tight “we were drunk and it shouldn’t have happened, it was stupid. I want to forget it, alright? Truthfully I don’t even remember it all that well anyway” 

Okay, _ouch_. Louis feels his heart sink beneath his chest like how a capsized ship is welcomed with the chilly embrace of the swallowing ocean. He looks at Harry then under his lashes, so meek and nervous, and his heart nearly plummets from his body altogether when he sees the desperation in Harry’s green eyes and how his shoulders are hunched timidly. Louis can tell that he’s lying, and that whatever hurt had settled inside of him last night because of Louis’ rejection is still lingering as fresh as a deep cut. 

“Harry, please don’t be angry with me” Louis shakily whispers “this whole thing has just gotten out of hand and -” 

“I told you, Louis. I’m not angry with you” Harry shakes his head as he interrupts, and the worst thing is, he doesn’t seem angry at all - and that just makes it worse. He seems a little bitter and disappointed - like his heart has just betrayed him by imploding inside his body - and that’s a whole lot quieter and more dangerous than anger. 

_You should be angry with me,_ Louis wants to tell him, _for kissing you back so willingly and passionately and then just pushing you off. But I’m just scared of how I feel for you, and I’m afraid of giving into it._

“I’m not accepting this Harry, it’s too much” Louis says instead, holding out the cheque towards Harry in hopes that he’ll take it back. 

“Don’t be ridiculous” Harry tells him as he gathers up the papers and pens that are scattered atop the piano. He holds them close to his chest then, and walks by Louis with a drooping head “the wedding is tomorrow so whatever this was between us is done. You’ve done a pretty good job at pretending, Louis, so you’ve earned that money” 

He walks by him then, a flurry of music sheets and sadness, and all Louis can do is stay rooted to the spot like a statue. His heart is stuttering an incoherent beat inside his chest and he just feels so inexplicably awful that he feels like curling into a ball and never remerging into society again. He’s hurt on the inside, and he’s sure Harry feels even worse. Louis wants to run after him and tell him that he hadn’t been pretending last night, not once had he been forcing a lie when he’d kissed him. He wants that so much, but bravery seems to slither down inside of him and he can’t find it. 

After a while of standing before the looming piano, he sighs greatly and makes his way back up the stairs - the cheque in his hands feeling heavy and unwanted. 

.

“So how are things with you?” the voice crackles against Louis’ ear as he ambles along the dusty trail of the estates winding maze. The sun is that discreet kind that feathers down in beams of dull gold, dancing across the blooming roses that peak out from the winding vines of the mazes’ walls and delicately kisses Louis’ skin. 

“I’m good, mate, yeah” Louis answers then as he stops in the square centre of the maze, his eyes traveling towards the ground that he had laid down on last night. He can almost imagine that the indent of his and Harry’s bodies are imprinted into the dirt, forever etched there like a real living memory. He gulps down the phone then and quickly tries to compose himself - maybe taking a stroll here of all places hadn’t been the best idea “So how’s life back home, Payno? Any news for me? Please tell me my apartment building has collapsed and that I’m getting relocated somewhere nicer for free?” 

“It’s still standing, mate. I was there this morning, your plants are coming on quite nicely, by the way. Thanks to me” Liam answers with a chuckle “oh and I ate the rest of your Quality Streets, hope you don’t mind” 

“You shithead! I was saving them for Christmas” Louis laughs, his hand absently tracing along the petals of a blush pink rose that sprouts out from the expanse of green trimmed hedges. 

“You know I have a sweet tooth, Louis! You should have hidden them better. Anway, so how is everything with our Harold? All good? Managed to make the ex boyfriend explode with jealousy yet?” Liam asks, the dull sound of a coffee machine turning on in the background buzzing through the phone. 

“Uh, he’s fine” Louis stutters a little, his hand now coming to play with the damp ends of his hair that he’d washed in the shower earlier. He’d spent nearly a half an hour in there, contemplatively staring at the grey tiled walls like a proper lunatic, and before he knew it the water was turning cold and he had been brought back to reality. His head is really messed up with confusion and desperation - and he has no idea how to sort it out. 

“You alright, Louis? You sound a little off or something” Liam questions then, and Louis can almost imagine how he’d be clutching the phone to his ear and how his thick brows would be crumpled in concern. 

“I’m grand, Liam. Nothing wrong here” Louis brushes off, shrugging like Liam can see him, but his heart squeezes a little in his chest. 

Liam is his best friend - and he wants to tell him how he’d kissed Harry, how he had wanted it bad, how it was the best kiss of his life and how he might be in love with him. 

But he just _can’t_. 

He’s spent so long trying not to drown beneath the water, trying to hold his head up above the waves that he’s almost forgotten who he really is, and all those long buried thoughts that have nearly suffocated him are weaving in his mind - inarticulate and jumbled and he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to explain them. 

“You sure?” 

“Well, he paid me today, right? A ridiculous amount, Liam” Louis stammers out then because he needs to get _something_ off his chest, even if it might not be the thing he really wants to say. 

“That was the whole point though, right Louis? You knew he’d pay you, and Harry’s fucking rich, like proper minted. So it shouldn’t matter if he’s tossed you a couple grand or whatever. It’s what he wanted from you” Liam explains in that logical tone of his that is dripping with reason and laced with sense, but there’s a taste on Louis’ tongue that is tangy and makes his stomach turn. 

Yeah sure, he’s known all along that this is what Harry requested of him, that his money was the end goal to this facade. But now, after being paid, it seems so horribly out of place that he wants nothing to do with Harry’s money. He doesn’t feel like he deserves to be paid when he had never been pretending in the first place. 

“Yeah, but it feels wrong somehow. I knew from the start that this whole pretending to be his boyfriend thing was just for the money, and I was okay with that but now…” Louis trails off, kicking the buttery gold dust that lines the floor of the maze into a cloud around his ankles “it’s just not sitting right with me” 

“Did something happen to make you think differently?” Liam asks him then and Louis really could curse aloud - he could possibly throw a few strings of utter profanity at the blue sky that the sun is trying to burst through - because Liam is always so religiously perceptive it’s like he has a sixth sense when it comes to other people's emotions. Louis just knows that when Liam finally graduates and becomes a registered psychologist that he is going to be in high demand. 

“No, nothing happened” Louis lies through his teeth, jaw clenched tight in defiance “it’s just that...I like Harry, alright? He’s a proper nice lad, yeah? I feel like we’re mates now or whatever, and I just think taking the money from him is weird. I mean I wouldn’t take it off you if we were in this situation. I just don’t know what to do” 

“Just tell him that, Louis” Liam sighs heavily “tell him that you’re not doing it for the money anymore, you’re just doing it to help a friend out. I’m sure he’ll be happy with that, I mean he gets to keep his money and he’s gained a new friend” 

“Yeah, maybe” Louis mumbles, not wanting to mention how he’d tried to give Harry back his money already but the offer hadn’t been accepted “yeah, I’ll do that” 

“You’re a good person, Louis, most people wouldn’t care about taking money off a friend” Liam tells him, his voice rumbling gently through the speaker “just slip it back into his suitcase or something and maybe don’t mention it so he doesn’t have the opportunity to give it back to you” 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea” Louis nods his head but stills where he stands when he hears the hedge beside him rustle gently “uh, Liam I gotta go. I’ll text you later, mate?” 

“Yeah sure, Louis! Tell Harry I said hello, won’t you?” 

“Yeah, I will. Bye” Louis ends the call then, tucking his phone safely in his pocket and turning around. It’s then that he sees a shadow of a figure emerge from around the corner of one thick hedge, the vague imprint of darkness upon the ground an elegant silhouette with a wide brimmed hat and kitten heels. 

He tries to compose himself as Gemma comes fully into view, she has her pouty red lips sucked into a thin line and her eyes are two wide circles that look like black holes that are about to devour the ceiling of space. For some reason his heart begins to pick up when she cautiously makes her way towards him. 

“Gemma, morning!” he greets with a smile, his hands twitching uselessly by his sides “how are you?” 

“Oh I’m fine, just taking my morning stroll” she announces slowly, her eyes still intently studying his face “I was just admiring the flowers when I heard a most interesting conversation. You can imagine my surprise when I heard the boy who my brother brought home, saying that he is being paid to be something that he isn’t” 

If Louis could ever pick a moment to let the world know it has permission to sink like a deflated balloon and wither away into the dusty ether of the universe - this would be it. 

He can feel his heart plummet in his chest and his mind whirl with possible explanations but it comes up as blank as the canvas of an uninspired artist. 

He’d been so stupid, talking like that on the phone to Liam so casually and not bothering to think of the possible fact that someone could have been listening. Clearly, he’d been wrong to assume he had been alone out here. 

“Gemma...I can explain” Louis stammers out, feeling miniscule under her weighty brown gaze. 

“Good, because I want an explanation” she folds her arms across the cotton of her summer dress and looks at him under the brim of her straw hat “I’ve been lied to this whole time! All of us have! What the hell were you two playing at?” 

“Gemma, look it’s a complicated story, alright?” Louis croaks out, feeling his stomach flip itself over inside his rattling body. He’s so nervous right now that he feels like he’s just going to dissolve into a puddle of water that will be soaked up by the dusty ground. 

“How complicated can it be?” Gemma counters, her hands clutching her hips and her eyes sparking like jasper rocks under the canopy of her wide brimmed hat “is Harry paying you to pretend to be his boyfriend? Yes or no? It’s that simple” 

“Yes” Louis almost whispers out, feeling like the word is pulling him all the way down to the ground and dragging him towards the bottomless pit of hell where he can reside for all eternity in damnation. Gemma eyes him sternly for a moment, and then in a flurry of brown hair and white cotton she whirls around to head back the way she had come - tugging Louis’ heart and stomach along with her. 

“How dare he play such a joke on us all! Oh wait until I get a hold of him!” 

“Gemma, wait!” Louis hurries after her frantically, his hands gently gripping her elbow “please just let me explain, alright? It isn’t like that, Harry wasn’t trying to play a joke on anyone. Just listen, yeah?” 

She flips her head back over her shoulder to look at him steadily, those molten eyes of hers studying every twitch and jump of his expression and she must see the pure and utter desperation in his countenance because her tight limb goes slack in his embrace. She lets a leaden sigh escape her carefully done lips and flickers her chocolate eyes over Louis’ shoulder and towards the little stone bench that rests in the centre of the maze. 

“Let’s sit, and you can tell me this whole story from start to finish” 

Louis does - sitting there with Gemma underneath the dull glow of the morning sun he lets it all out from the beginning to now (omitting a few details about his kiss with Harry last night because he isn’t sure if he wants to say it). He feels like he’s talking for a lot longer than he is, each word is heavy on his tongue and is somehow laced with a sense of betrayal. This whole week had been constructed to falsify a relationship that had never been real, and so far he and Harry had succeeded but Louis and his big mouth just had to go and fuck it up. He feels somehow that he’s being traitorous to Harry’s efforts, but there isn’t anything he can do about it now - Gemma had heard him and he can’t make her unhear it. 

He wishes he could take it all back though, that Gemma had never heard him on the phone and that she hadn’t decided to be perceptive; but he can’t so he just keeps talking and feels more easy when Gemma's face smooths out with each word that passes from his lips.

“So this all started because of some picture you took when you were drunk?” Gemma asks bewilderedly after Louis finishes explaining. 

“Yeah, pretty much” Louis shrugs, swinging his feet against the ground and clasping the cold sides of the stone bench with his hands “Harry was properly upset about Theo and Chelsea, and I thought that if we took a picture together then Theo would get jealous and that would be it. It just escalated from there” 

“Why on earth would you agree to something like this, Louis? It’s absolutely mad! I mean, pretending to be someone’s boyfriend is no easy task, you know” Gemma asks him and Louis feels something calm settle inside him then at the hint of a smile that shadows across her face. It seems that her momentary annoyance at being played by her brother is long gone now that she understands the story. 

“Well, I needed the money at first. My hours were cut at the restaurant I work in and I was worried about rent but now....well you heard the conversation” Louis trails off, waving a hand around as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“You told your friend on the phone that you feel weird about it now” Gemma nods her head “why is that?” 

He contemplates it for a moment with his bottom lip wedged between his teeth, his eyes studying her face and after a few sporadic beats of his heart he decides that he trusts her. There’s a light in her eyes, and as dark as they are Louis can almost see the internal brightness that shines from within her - it’s the same kindness that radiates from Harry, and Louis knows that whatever he’s about to say will never leave Gemma’s lips to gossip with another person.

“We kissed last night” Louis stutters. It’s said like the rush of waves down near the tide, or the scattering of wind that breezes through a sticky summer day - quick and sure and out before he even decides to keep it in. Gemma blinks at him a few times, her mouth slightly opened like she’s unsure of what words need to form on her tongue, but then she’s smiling at him and all trepidation simmers away from his veins. 

“Really? I mean I just assumed that you kissed all the time when I thought you were actually dating but now...knowing all of this...You _kissed_?” Gemma clamps a hand around his arm and squeezes gently, genially, and her eyes are beaming like the sun above them. 

“Yeah, we kissed and now everything is fucked up because I pushed him away and he got hurt and then this morning I woke up and he’d left a cheque on the pillow beside me, and it just felt like a bloody slap in the face, you know? Like whatever this is, whatever it _was_ , is just gone” Louis slumps a little on the bench, feeling like he’ll never be able to sit upright again under the weight of all of this. 

“Did you like...kiss him back?” Gemma questions softly, sliding her hand away from his arm and tilting her head to study him. 

Louis shifts a little on the bench as if his trepid action can relieve the amount of anxiety he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t even know why he feels compelled to tell her any of this; he could have just admitted that he’d agreed to be Harry’s boyfriend for the money and asked her to promise not to say anything. She doesn’t need to know that they had kissed - Louis hadn’t even told his best mate for goodness sake - but being subjected to her kind gaze is like being given a window of opportunity for the truth (well some of it at least) and he feels safe enough to take it. 

“We’d been to Zayn’s for dinner and we’d had a bit to drink and then we stopped off at the corner shop and got some wine and we sat out here and drank it” Louis explains, his eyes sharpening on the spot just before them that he and Harry had splayed out on just last night “we were both fairly drunk, but yeah, I still kissed him back. I think I’ve wanted to kiss him for a very long time, even before all of this shit made everything so complicated. Way before then” 

“Why can’t you just tell him that then? If you wanted to kiss him, Louis, then you must have feelings for him” Gemma brightens with a smile “that’s not a bad thing, you know” 

“But I’m not….I’m not _out…_.nobody knows who I really am, Gemma, and I’m scared” he sighs brokenly, lungs ceasing inside of him and his emotions on the cusp of a breakdown. He can’t even look at her since he feels so weak with his bleary eyes and wobbling lip, but she just wraps her arm around him and pulls him close to her. 

“Louis, you’re wonderful, do you know that? I’ve known you for a short time, and I feel like I’ve known you forever. You make people feel so comfortable and happy, there aren’t many people who are like that” Gemma nearly whispers to him, her chin resting on his shaking shoulder “when Harry brought you home I was just so happy that he’d finally found someone who makes him smile like the way he does when he’s with you. You deserve to be happy, Louis, and you deserve to smile and be made feel comfortable by other people. You shouldn’t be scared, because you’re amazing” 

“It’s been so hard pretending with him and trying to push down how I really feel and I’ve hurt him in the process, and I just don’t know what to do” Louis sniffles as he rubs a hand furiously under his leaking eyes.

“Don’t tell him I ever said this, or I will kill you” Gemma begins sternly as she sits up, but then her shoulders settle lightly as she smiles “but Harry is one of the most wonderful people I know. He’s funny, and he’s marvellously talented and he’s kind, but he’s always been so understanding. I know he’ll understand how you feel, of course he will, he’s gone through all of this himself. Just explain to him how you feel about him and he won’t be mad at you for pushing him away, he’ll understand, I promise. He’s been crazy about you for a while now, did you know? I was so happy when you showed up because I thought he’d finally grown a pair and asked you out” 

“He told you about me?” Louis asks with a furrowed brow, his hideously confused heart battering inside of him with something that feels a lot like lovesickness. 

“Yeah, he used to bang on about this cute boy named Louis that he met at the theatre. Oh Gemma, he looked at me today! Oh Gemma, I was brave enough to wave at him! Louis has the most beautiful eyes, Gemma, I get so lost inside of them!” Gemma mocks her brother's slow voice with a giggle, and even Louis can’t help but smile a little “he had the worst crush on you, Louis, and I’m sure he still does”

“I wanted to kiss him last night, and I wanted to keep kissing him forever, but I know I’m not brave enough yet” Louis feels like crying - and he just might if Gemma keeps looking at him with that kind of familial pity swimming around in the darkness of her eyes. 

“I know now that this has all been pretend, but you really could have fooled me” Gemma says “the both of you looked like the most in love couple I’d ever seen, and maybe you didn’t realise it, but everyone else could see it. Harry looks at you like you’re his whole world, and you look at him the same way, Louis. Don’t waste that because you’re afraid of how other people might see you. Something like that doesn’t come around too often, you know. Please don’t hurt yourself by letting it pass you by” 

Louis can’t do much but weakly smile at her and nod his head, and after she’s satisfied that her words have somehow sunk into him like water feeding a plant, she kisses his cheek gently and leans away from him. 

“Gemma?” Louis weakly calls after her as she stands from the bench to walk away “please don’t say anything to Harry. I don’t want him to feel embarrassed about it all, the whole point of this was to make people believe we’re together. He’d be mortified if anyone knew the truth” 

“I promise I won’t say anything to him” Gemma nods her head of shiny brown waves “I’ll just play along, and he’ll never have to know” 

Louis smiles at her then with gratitude and watches as she walks away within the shadow of rose dotted hedges - her words playing around in his head like a muffled radio station. 

_Harry looks at you like you’re his whole world, and you look at him the same way, Louis. Don’t waste that because you’re afraid of how other people might see you. Something like that doesn’t come around too often, you know. Please don’t hurt yourself by letting it pass you by._

He sits there upon the stone bench for what feels like centuries, just repeating Gemma’s words in his head over and over and letting them knock against the confused thoughts that pollute his mind like an oil spill. He sighs then, heavy and leaden with confusion - but above him the clouds part to let the sun burst through like how a hoarded away pocket of air is let out of one’s lungs - and Louis feels like he can finally breathe along with it. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy!  
> also just a warning there is a mention of a homophobic word in this chapter x

_**What a marvellous feeling it would be, if we could say exactly how we felt.** _

_**What a monumental victory.** _

_**What a terrifying thought.** _

_**\- Akif Kichloo** _

* * *

The descent of nightfall had seemed like it had taken centuries to cover the world in its deep navy blanket of dotted stars, and as the cobalt blue of the sky finally starts to turn darker Louis feels like he can breathe again. He had spent the entire day under the glaring spotlight of the sun, each tense and knotted twist of his expression shined upon by the ever bright bulb that had hung against its backdrop of clear cerulean, and he’s felt like he has been putting on the performance of his life in front of Harry’s family. 

He’s tried - rather miserably to be quite honest - to hide the fact that he’s been fighting a losing battle inside of himself all day. A battle of pure and utter confusion that is tinged with a desperate longing and an ever lingering sadness that has been caused due to the fact Louis is sure Harry wants nothing more to do with him. 

Harry has still not talked to him since that awkward encounter in the music room, and each and every time Anne or Edward have looked Louis’ way with a confused countenance he’s brushed them off with a smile, and he had tried his hardest to remain focused during conversation with James, Poppy and Charles during lunch to look like he had been unperturbed by Harry’s absence. 

But no matter how hard he’s tried to make an effort to appear normal, he is entirely certain that he looks like a desolate shell of a soul that is entirely constructed with bleak emptiness, and that his shoulders are weighted with every obvious pound of sadness that he’s been dragging around since last night. 

Today he’s just felt so disconnected to everything around him without the anchoring presence of Harry, but he has just been too afraid to take the plunge and seek him out. Louis isn’t sure whether or not Harry would even want his presence near him after what had happened between them. Perhaps he just needs a bit of space from the situation - a little time to clear his head of all the dusty thoughts that are no doubt crowding his wonderful mind. 

Harry had stayed inside the house for most of the day, the poeticism of his music resonating throughout the grand structure and billowing outwards towards the gardens like the sticky trail of a summer's breeze. Louis could be grateful at least for that, since his absence from Louis’ side could be explained and not be questioned too much, because he knows that if any of Harry’s family members were to pick up on the fact that they’ve suddenly become tense with one another, then Louis is sure he’d shrivel up and die on the spot. Or perhaps he’d shoot a lie from his loose lips at such an easy pace that he’d frighten himself, and he’d shrug off any worry that would linger after their concerned words. 

He has been feeling Gemma’s mud warm gaze all day however - those heavily lined sinkholes flickering from beneath rose tinged sunglasses or under her thick row of lashes at the dinner table - and each and every time Louis has caught her staring at him he’s felt like puckered holes of unstitched lining have been pulled from his soul.

He almost feels like he’s been wearing his overly practised facade of heterosexuality like a well tailored suit jacket and now Gemma is coming along and pulling the loose thread at the bottom and leaving him naked with just a studious look. He doesn’t regret telling her, oddly enough, it actually feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders even though some more burdens rest nestled within the cracks of his bones. He trusts her not to tell anyone, especially Harry, but it still makes him slightly restless to know that when her eyes bore into his face that she holds the truth behind them. 

She saunters towards him now in an elegant pant suit of deep red that cuffs sharply at her ankles, her flowing brown hair tumbling past her shoulders in meticulously barreled curls and two glasses of bubbling champagne in her ringed hands. She tips her glossy lips into a smile as she comes to stand under the tree Louis is resting against, the roots digging into the ground like the extended fingers of a giant that edge towards the mazes hedges of dark green. 

“Hey, thought you could use a drink” she says kindly, holding out one glass towards him. Louis stands up straighter then, his black button up snagging a little on the rough bark of the tree, and he takes the fizzing glass with a grateful smile. 

“Thanks, Gems” he takes his eyes off her face then to survey the gaggle of guests that are all merging between the house and the fairy lit garden. Tonight had been a rehearsal dinner of sorts with tinkling jazz music and fancy appetizers and a few grateful speeches that had come from one excited bride to be. More guests had arrived today, some staying in the vacant rooms of the large house and some had booked into hotels and guest houses in the quaint little village, and with the new bundle of affluent guests there seems to be a tangible tension of upcoming excitement in the air for the wedding tomorrow. Well, Louis would feel excited for the wedding if he wasn’t so miserable. 

He had spent most of the night lingering in the shadows and avoiding Harry any chance he could get, which hadn’t been hard since every time he’d even caught a glimpse of him Harry would meld into the dark abyss like a ghost. Louis had wandered down towards the gardens then in defeat, the gentle tinkle of piano keys and the deep lilt of saxophones wavering away with every step he took. That’s how he’s found himself here; alone with nothing but the soft chatter of the leaves above his head and the gazing face of the moon for company. Well, until now. Now Gemma is entering his bubble of self loathing contemplation with her melting gaze and quirked red lips. 

“So how are you now? You okay?” Gemma asks Louis softly, her pouty mouth stalling over the thin lip of her glass. 

Louis looks at her then and can’t help the leaden sigh that escapes him at the sight of her face, his shoulders sagging and his hand limply clutching his glass. All he can see when he looks at her is the same openly kind expression that her brother always wears, and Louis can’t help but be reminded of all the times Harry has looked at him so tenderly and honestly. 

Louis has been in the same house as Harry all day, but fuck it, he misses him. He misses him as if a forceful ocean of battering waves has separated them, no horizon or safety in sight, just the cruel darkness of the never ending expanse of frozen water. 

“No, I’ve felt like shit all day” Louis answers honestly, because he feels like lying to Gemma at this point would be an insult to the small semblance of bravery that had bloomed inside him earlier “and I still haven’t bloody worked up the courage to talk to him. I doubt he even wants to talk to me now” 

“He’s only been avoiding you because he’s embarrassed too, Louis. I’m sure he’s feeling rejected and lost because he thinks that kissing you had been unwanted on your part, when it’s the complete opposite” Gemma explains softly, brown melting into the pupil of her eyes like gooey chocolate as she looks at him .

“I just don’t know how this got all so messed up. I mean it seemed pretty simple at the start, just pretend to be together and make Theo jealous and get a little revenge but now I don’t know if I’ve ever been pretending” Louis mutters into his glass, like the words can settle beneath the golden liquid and drown there forever “I really just let myself get tangled up in this whole lie and now….Now I don’t know what to do”

“I don’t think Harry ever cared about making Theo jealous” Gemma tells him “ever since Theo’s gotten here Harry has barely even looked at him, I think he just has eyes for you and no one else. If he really wanted to make him feel jealous he would’ve done a lot more to irritate him, but I think he must have forgotten what he ever felt for Theo when he was with you. I know it’s confusing for you, I get that, but just don’t keep hurting yourself. Be stupidly brave for like two seconds and just tell him how you feel, you just need to talk to him. Properly. Just explain everything” 

“Yeah, I will. I think I’ll need a few more of these first” he attempts a laugh as he holds up his now half empty glass of slowly dissipating bubbles, but then he sighs yet again, the sound wavering past his lips before asking permission “I’ve always found it hard to say exactly what I need to say, you know? I was a quiet kid, believe it or not, and I’ve always had trouble explaining how I feel in words”

“Maybe you don’t need words, Louis. Sometimes our actions speak louder” Gemma gives his arm a squeeze, like she’s trying to sink her innuendos and carefully hidden messages into his skin, and she smiles at him so gently that Louis can feel the strings of his heart pull tightly “just show Harry how you feel, Louis, I know he feels the same, and you know not everyone is good at explaining how they feel. Figuring yourself out, and knowing what you want to say is hard but don’t shy away from talking just because you think you might not get your point across” 

“You know I have a friend who’s studying Psychology, I think you two would get along” Louis smiles fondly and Gemma just laughs a little, clutching his arm gently once more before letting her hand drop. 

“Now don’t keep standing here talking to me, go and find my brother!” Gemma tells him, waving a hand towards the elegant crowd of swaying dancers and mingling socialites that are causing a bubbling cacophony of soft jazz and conversation to litter the air “last time I saw him he was looking particularly glum standing by the drinks table” 

Harry isn’t by the drinks table - he’s nowhere in sight, seemingly disappeared like the haunting imprint of an entity and Louis makes about five laps of the large garden area, beaming fairy lights glowering down at him and jazz music accompanying his every step in his search for him. He must get stopped about ten times by people who are in the mood for idle chatter, like Stevie and Harry’s grandmother and James who pulls him over to speak to some of his fellow writers. Even Louis can not conjure excitement inside of himself when speaking to these modern authors who have congregated by a table full of champagne - instead he plasters on thousands of fake smiles that have the power to crack and mottle his skin forever and asks repeatedly to every person who stalls him _“Have you seen Harry?”_. Most of the replies are in decline to his question, or some give him false directions to where they last seen the tall, curly haired boy and Louis elbows his way through guests to yet again arrive at a spot that is completely empty of Harry’s presence. 

His heart is almost frantic in his chest as it thrums out a beat of confusion that threatens to make him sick. One half of him is trying to dig his heels into the ground so that he won’t ever seek Harry out and apologise to him, while the other half is pushing him along with impatient hands that are almost begging him to find Harry so that Louis can tell him how sorry he is for pushing him away. He wants so desperately for Harry to understand how he feels about him, but cowardice and shame are still so deeply rooted inside of him that he knows it’s going to take a lot of strength to pull the weeds out completely. 

“Louis, are you alright?” he hears a voice waver towards his ears and feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He stops his rather hurried walk as he passes by the ivory gazebo that a few couples are dancing under, and whips his head around to meet a pair of green eyes. 

“Anne, hi. Yeah, I’m alright” Louis smiles at her, but he’s sure it looks as tense as it feels. Her lovely face of rounded beauty droops slightly in discontent as she takes in his appearance. 

“You sure? I’ve noticed you and Harry haven’t spent much time together today, and I’m not one to pry or anything but you both seem so down. If you need to talk about anything I’m here, love. I told Harry the same thing just now” Anne informs him softly, that motherly affection swarming her eyes and curving near her mouth as she smiles at him. 

“It’s nothing, we just had a little argument last night. We’ll be alright though” Louis tells her, his eyes now skipping past her shoulder to look for her son “I really want to talk to him, did you see him just now?” 

“Oh yeah, he was just here with me. He headed into the house a minute ago, said something about wanting to practice for tomorrow” Anne rolls her eyes “I think he just wanted to get away from me when I asked him what was wrong with the two of you. I know every couple has their ups and downs, but you two just seem so strong all the time. You really are made for each other” 

“Thanks, Anne. I’ll go talk to him” Louis says, feeling like there’s a lump that is slightly forming in his throat like a quick drying slab of concrete and before he can go anywhere there’s a hand that is gently wrapping around his arm. Anne’s perfume tingles his nostrils as she pulls him closer to her, her green eyes ever so intent on his face and twinkling with genuine adoration. 

“You make my little boy so happy” she tells him with a smile, the wine glass in her hand clutched firmly and Louis guesses that it’s probably the cause for her sincerity, but then again Anne is just so eternally lovely that this could just be her being honest “and I know we haven’t known each other too long, Louis, but I feel like you’re a part of this family and that you will be for a long time” 

“I hope so” Louis almost whispers, the words out of his mouth before he can ever think to stifle them and inside his chest his heart stutters like a skipping record on a vinyl player - going round and round but not playing anything. She lets him go then with a gentle pat to his face and a watery smile dancing within the emerald forest of her eyes. She turns away from him then, and Louis once again continues his search - heading towards the grand mansion before him. 

The house juts out from the expanse of night sky like a shining gold coin, sandstone freckled with the bulbs that are dotted along the garden and its windows glimmering like the inside of a pirate's treasure chest. Louis’ feet pick up when he gets closer to the carved granite steps that soar towards the veranda that many groups are now congregated on - their elegant hands clutching wine glasses and their wrists dripping in pearls and shiny watches. Louis doesn’t even bother throwing false smiles their way, too intent on finding Harry and making amends of this whole mess he’s in. 

He isn’t even sure what he’s going to say, or do. 

He could just suggest that they both forget this whole debacle and get back to being friends. Louis knows Harry is gentle and kind, and understanding - he’ll definitely soothe over this bump in their relationship with his trusting personality once Louis apologises or explains how he only wants to be Harry’s friend. But he doesn’t just want to be Harry’s friend - the ache that is growing inside of him like a celestial black hole contests to that very notion. 

Louis wants to be brave right now. Louis wants to see Harry, lock eyes with him and throw his arms around his neck and promise him that he’ll leave room inside his heart for him until it stops beating. He wants to tell him how much he’s suffered through long periods of self hatred just because he’s always liked the idea of kissing boys - how his own father had caused Louis to shun his true self and made him dig a grave inside of himself to bury his identity. 

He’s been a prisoner inside his own flesh for years now - a caged bird tied down by bones and wings trapped beneath layers of tight skin, and he wishes he could break free so he could soar within the world's canvas of brilliance. But bravery is an earned thing, and Louis feels sometimes that he isn't worthy of courage or capable of wielding it - cowardice clouds his senses and lays in wait inside his throat to block out any words that could narrate his feelings. 

But he is tired, and all those personas he has crammed inside his head are exhausting the fight inside of him. Perhaps he’ll wake up tomorrow and his own self depreciation will have arisen with a new terrible vigour, but right now he can feel the exhaustion of pretending all the time start to creep its way inside his veins. All of his demons are tired - and he’s nearly ready to give up. 

But whatever forthright explanation he was going to give gets caught in the web of his vocal chords - stuck there in his throat like a thick syrupy trail of honey as he enters the hallway that leads to the large piano room that Harry has become a somewhat permanent fixture to. He can hear the wavering of deep voices swarm towards him - the baritone murmurs echoing down the dark hall like incessant whispers of ghosts that frivolously haunt abandoned castles. 

He stalls his steps right by a large Victorian era portrait that hangs on the wall, the small menial light that snakes its way in through the torchlit room bouncing off the woman's austerely crafted face and the plump plains of the toddler that sits perched on her knee. Louis casts a glance over his shoulder to check that nobody else is loitering inside the large house, and sure enough the only thing that greets him is the long expanse of darkness he has just walked through, and the distant pleasantness of jazz and chatter buzz far away like bees in a field. 

He can just about make out the voices inside the room if he listens intently enough, and his heart nearly plummets when he hears the obvious nasally voice of Theo murmur something lowly like the hissing of a snake. 

“....I’m not listening to this anymore, Theo” Louis can hear the deepness of Harry’s voice mingle through the sounds of what seems to be a chair scraping against the ground. He panics a little when he thinks that Harry is going to burst through the door any second, and his limbs tremble with the ache to hightail it away from the piano room and go back outside but Harry’s voice wavers again “I came in here to practise for tomorrow, and I can’t get anything done when you’re here, so could you please leave?” 

“Oh come on, H. You’re just mad because you know what I’m saying is true” Theo’s drawl carries towards Louis’ pricked ears like the bite of a viper that’s hidden in velvet. His back straightens up almost out of instinct and something inside of himself tells him that maybe he should stay here until the very last minute - just in case Harry might need him. 

“You’re not making any sense, Theo, so I’d like you to leave” Harry quips cuttingly “and don’t call me that, you lost the right as my friend a long time ago” 

“Oh get a grip, Harry! You’re not fooling anyone bringing that lad here! I know exactly what you’re doing” Theo barks out a bitter laugh, and from his position hidden behind the door Louis glares into the dark like a wolf ready to pounce. 

“Oh, and what is that?” Harry asks slowly, some sort of a sarcastic laugh hidden in his tone too. Louis tries to look between the doorframe where it’s open slightly, but all he can see is the buttery gold glow of the chandelier and the shadowy outline of the piano - he can’t see the two boys at all and something about that makes his skin prickle with defensiveness. 

“Trying to prove a point by dating some guy who you think will make me jealous” Theo ever so pompously leers and his words are followed by a tremendous scoff from Harry and the sounds of shoes clicking against the polished wood floor “don’t walk away from me, Harry, you know it’s true! He’s not like us, he has no class. No proper upbringing...he’s a waiter for heaven's sake! He waits on people like us and that’s the type you’ve decided to bring home? I mean come on, he’s from _Doncaster_! He’s not the type you should be with, and you know it too. You’re doing this to prove a point to me” 

“Prove a point to _you_ ? Do you _hear_ yourself, Theo?” Harry snarls angrily which makes Louis shoot his eyebrows up since he’s never heard Harry be angry at all “you think I should be with a snob like you? Someone who looks down on other people because of where they come from or because they don’t have as much money as you? You’re pathetic, and you always were” 

“ _I’m_ pathetic? I wasn’t the one whining after you like a little boy when we were in school. You did that” Theo bites out, and more footsteps accompany his words along with the shuffling of music sheets. Louis can now spy their figures through the crack in the door frame and he can see how Theo now stands with his hands atop the piano, and he can see the tightness in Harry’s broad back as he bends over the instrument with balled up fists resting on the music rack. 

“Didn’t have much sense back then, did I? I sure as hell learned since then” Harry bitterly states, his hands uselessly gathering the crinkling music sheets into a pile. Louis can see how Theo stands closer to him, his shoulders a little more relaxed and his face expectant like he’s waiting for something. 

“We were good together though” he says more softly this time, but almost with a demanding sort of question in his tone, and Louis has to clench his jaw when Theo rests a hand on Harry’s arm. 

“Oh my god, is that what this is? This isn’t you being disapproving of Louis, this is you wanting me back?” Harry shrugs him away with a laugh, and then he moves away from the piano and his vision is lost to Louis “you want me to fall back into your arms? Is that what you want? Me to be that pathetic little boy who used to follow you around everywhere, who used to think you were everything? Do you not understand how much you _hurt_ me?” 

“Harry, this doesn’t have to be anything serious” Theo saunters away from Louis’ eyeline then too, and he stays stuck to the wall outside like the shiny steel suit of armour that rests at the end of the hallway, its silver sheen glinting in the moonlight. Louis has to ball his fists at his sides then at the horridly sensual tone to Theo’s voice, but then something like the fluttering bird of panic perches within his heart and it nearly causes him to sway on his feet. 

What if this is what Harry wants? What if he still loves Theo more than anyone and just wants him back? Maybe he’ll fall back into his arms again and regain their secret passion, and Louis will just have to let him because he has no claim to Harry’s body or to his heart. Perhaps Gemma and Anne, and just about everyone else had been wrong to assume Harry and Louis are meant for each other. Maybe Harry had just been mad about being rejected, but then why had he said all those things to Louis last night under the stars? 

_Do you have any idea how much I want you?_

His mind pounds like the dull clang of a cathedral bell at noon, and he shakes his head as if to rid the jumble of thoughts from it. He focuses on the crack in the door then and lets his ears train into the voices once again. 

“Come on, we can fool around like we used to. I know you miss me” Theo hums seductively, his voice hanging thick in the air like a stifling heat that one could easily choke on. It bristles Louis to no end. 

“Get your hands off of me, Theo. I don’t want anything to do with you ever again. I’m with Louis now, and I’m happy so just leave me alone” Harry says then, his words rushed and tight like it’s an effort for him to tell the lie, but at the same time they rush from his mouth quick and forcefully - as if it had almost been too easy to say them. 

“I’ve been thinking about you this whole time, I know you’ve been thinking of me” 

“Oh you were thinking of me, were you? _Thinking_ of me? I didn’t need your thoughts, Theo! I needed you!” Harry cries out in a quip “Where were you when I left Italy and got on a flight at two in the morning to go home after you said you didn’t want me, after you said that you weren’t a faggot like me, huh? Where were you when I was crying my eyes out over you like a fucking idiot?! The first time Charles got sick you never even bothered to ask me how he was doing, or how any of us were doing. You were a part of my family once, my best friend, and you ruined that because you were afraid of what people would think of you because you like boys. You weren’t there for me at all, you pushed me aside and hurt me and now you want to come crawling back because I’ve brought someone home that I’m genuinely crazy about and your ego is threatened? No thanks, Theo. You don’t want to admit that you want me to anyone else. I’m not a secret you can keep. I’m a _person_ , and you’re never going to be ready for me. I need someone who can stand up and love me the way I deserve, someone who won’t push me into the shadows all the time” 

“You have to understand...I’d be a disgrace if anyone found out! I love Chelsea, I really do, but I know I could be happier if I had you too” Theo pleads with him, his voice bordering on desperate. 

“Your happiness is of no importance to me” Harry cuts out “I don’t care about you anymore” 

The echoing sound of shoes slapping against the wood sounds closer to Louis’ ears then, and he nearly shrinks back against the wall in readiness to be caught, but the footsteps are cut short when Theo’s voice rings steady and clear yet again. 

“You expect me to believe that Louis lad is who you want?” 

“ _That_ _Louis lad_ , is twice the man you’ll ever be. He’s kind and gentle, and brilliant. He’s nothing like you and he’s exactly who I want” Harry throws his words out determinedly, and Louis isn’t sure if they’d just been formed to sell his lie but it causes the heart beneath his ribs to flutter rapidly. 

“Harry….” Theo pleads again, utter desperation in his voice that is almost like a snarl. There’s a scuffling sound of shoes off of the floor and the rustle of suit fabric being clenched beneath fingers, and Harry’s protesting grunt echoes off the walls and crowds Louis’ ears. His limbs melt then like ice sculptures in dead heat, and suddenly he feels able to move again as he bounds towards the open door. He’s listened enough now, and he can tell Harry needs to be saved from this boy and his desperate madness. 

“Get your hands off of me!” Harry’s voice is loud and demanding then and melds in with the rough swing of the door as Louis bursts through it “Theo, let go! Let go of me!” 

“I think you heard him the first time, dickhead!” Louis announces harshly as he walks into the room, deep red anger blooming in his chest like a paint spill when he lands his eyes on Theo’s hand that is gripping Harry’s elbow like a vice, and Harry’s shocked wide eyes that are thrown upon Louis like spotlights. 

“Butt out, this conversation is none of your concern” Theo harshly snips, nose turning into the air haughtily as he eyes Louis with a horrid sneer. Louis laughs out an equally harsh scoff, sarcasm dripping through its every note. He can feel anger and rage settle inside his bones like toxins that are polluting his senses and clouding his eyes over with lenses of scarlet red. He hates seeing Theo’s hands anywhere near Harry, and any previous confused thoughts that had laid themselves in his brain now seem to flutter away. There’s no room for doubt when he sees something like this - Harry is Louis’ to protect and make safe - and right now he feels like slamming a tight fist right into Theo’s jaw. 

“None of _my_ concern? You're a funny lad, aren’t ya?” Louis bitterly scoffs as he comes to stand in front of the two boys; Theo snarling ungracefully down at him and Harry struggling in Theo’s iron hold with eyes that are begging Louis not to act on any of his furious impulses “if you don’t take your hands off my boy, you’re going to see how much it’s my concern” 

There’s a scuffle then when Theo lets go of Harry to lunge at Louis, but years of playing football and being quick with his reflexes win this time and before he can even blink he has his fists balled into the front of Theo’s jacket and is shoving him against the Grand piano. There’s a dull scrape of piano legs off of wood, and the whimpering protest of Harry carries around the room like the deep thrum of violin strings. He can feel two large hands wrap around his hips then, a shiver of something shooting up his spine, but he can’t focus on the long fingers that are gripping into the soft skin of his waist to pull him away. All he can seem to concentrate on is the way Theo looks up at him from his splayed position on the piano, proper fury lighting up his amber eyes and a twisted snarl on his full lips. 

“Louis please, he isn’t worth it” Harry begs from behind him, his fingers tightening their hold, but Louis’ don’t relent from the front of Theo’s coat. He’s panting out vicious puffs of fury from his mouth that bristle the auburn curls that hang over Theo’s face, and he has to contain every ounce of anger inside of him so that he doesn’t leave an imprint of that smug expression on the hardness of his own knuckles. 

“You know I’ve wanted nothing more than to punch you in your stupid fucking face ever since I met you but now….” Louis trails off, gripping his tailored jacket in his hands and pulling the boy up by the lapels so that they’re almost nose to nose. 

“Now what?” Theo cowers, his own panting breaths fanning across Louis’ face. He can smell the sourness of whiskey clinging to every puff of air that he lets out from his lips. 

“Now I can see that you’re not man enough to take it” Louis shoves him away harshly, Theo’s back hitting against the piano with a dull wallop “You ever so much as look Harry’s way again I will show you exactly what we do to dickheads like you back in _Doncaster_. Come on, Harry, let’s go” 

He’s a whirl of fuming anger and a raging heartbeat but he takes Harry’s hand gently and pulls him along towards the door, and neither of them spare Theo a second glance. 

He just keeps walking with pounding footsteps and breaths that rush out of him like air from a broken fan - uneven and choppy - and his lungs are slowly bursting inside of him because they can’t possibly contain all of his fury. All he can seem to focus on is the battering of his heart inside his chest and the feel of Harry’s hand in his - he’s almost completely forgotten why he had been seeking Harry out in the first place, his mind too eaten up by the poison of jealousy and anger. 

He doesn’t stop his frantic pacing until they come outside and are underneath the tree Louis had so effortlessly hidden beneath earlier - the soft twinkle of fairy lights dotting the branches above them. He drops Harry’s hand then and turns away from him with two hands in his hair and shoulders that are threatening to crumble under the weight of all his vexation. 

“Louis, you need to calm down” Harry almost whispers from behind him, and he whirls around then, the gentle breeze of outside pleasant on his stinging cheeks. Harry stands before him, dressed in a salmon shirt and black blazer - as handsome and as ethereal as ever with his long hair and wild eyes - and the breath is knocked out of Louis for a different reason then. Just the mere sight of Harry being this close to him after not spending the day with him is threatening to squeeze out all the remaining air in Louis’ lungs. 

“Fuck, Harry, are you okay?” Louis asks him rather breathlessly “Did he try to touch you...I swear to God if he tried anything on you I’ll go back there and knock his teeth down his throat and -” 

“Louis! Stop it, I’m fine, yeah? Just breathe, babe” Harry calmly tells him as he grips Louis’ face between two large hands, his fingers nimbly twisting a lock of hair that sits stuck to his sweating temples. His touch almost has the power to render his mind useless and Louis has to try and grapple with his sanity to stop it from slipping away from him “stop worrying, he’s an idiot and I’m pretty sure he’s drunk. He didn’t do anything other than grab my arm, okay?” 

“I’m sorry that I just like...barged in” Louis mutters then, feeling ice cold when Harry takes his hands away from him but his soft green eyes stay stuck to Louis like magnets “I came looking for you and I heard you talking and it didn’t sound too friendly and I just got so angry that I couldn’t just stand there” 

“Thank you, for saving me” Harry smiles at him and when he does the gentle breeze flitters through the dark expanse of the leaves that rest above their heads as if nature itself is sighing at a beauty so magnificent “I don’t know what he would have tried if you weren’t there to save me” 

“I didn’t save you..” Louis bashfully says as a deeply heated blush spreads across his cheeks. Harry just looks at him then under his dark lashes, his teeth chewing his bottom lip and his feet crossing awkwardly at the ankles. 

“You did, Louis” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper as he tilts his head up to fully look across at him. Something jolts his heart then like an electric shock, and his mouth dries like a desert floor as he takes in the sight of the fond look on Harry’s face. He feels his feet take a step closer to him before he can stop himself.

“I came looking for you earlier because I wanted to just sort everything out with you and -” 

“It’s fine, Louis, I understand” Harry interrupts then, leaving Louis standing there with half formed words lodged down his throat like missing puzzle pieces “I was a dick earlier and I shouldn’t have been. I acted immaturely and I’m sorry, Louis, I really am. I do want to be your friend, and we can just forget what happened last night because I….I don’t want to lose you, and I’ll take you anyway that I can. Even if you don’t feel the same” 

_I feel the same. I feel the same. Tell him you feel the same, Louis! Just say it!_

He stands there for a moment like a mute, as still and as motionless as the giant trunk of the tree that stands behind them, and his heart pounds inside his chest and his soul sings from within him at Harry’s words. He goes to open his mouth but Harry’s grumbling voice sounds out before he can let a word escape his lips. 

“He’s very brave, looking over here after you told him not to look my way” Harry remarks, and Louis follows Harry’s eyeline to see what has so rudely interrupted their conversation. Louis clenches his jaw tightly then when he sees Theo ever so brazenly glare at them with his piercing gold eyes. He stands by a table filled with silver platters of appetizers, Chelsea by his side and a gaggle of other middle aged women around him like gossiping hens. He’s trying to get a reaction from then, Louis knows it, and all of his emotions start to raise their heads from inside of him but jealousy takes the front seat. 

“Want to give him something to look at?” Louis shakily asks then, his eyes tearing from Theo and towards Harry who is stood chewing his lip again. 

“What do you mean?” Harry furrows his dark brows, his head tilting to the side to survey Louis’ movements that are now bordering on skittish. He takes a step towards him then, his shaking hands coming to rest on Harry’s face but as soon as he feels the warmth of his skin under his palms something inside of him changes. 

Suddenly the restless waves that had risen up inside of him earlier now settle, and there in the smoky horizon of his brain lies a flickering beacon from a lighthouse sprung up from hope. He looks at Harry and feels his heart inside his chest squeeze itself and his soul thrums against its cage and he delights that he can finally _feel_ it. His mind has always been so loud, that it’s caused his soul to slip into silence. But now, standing here looking into Harry’s green eyes, he can feel it chant inside of him _“At last I’ve found my home! At long last!”_

He kisses him then, soft and gentle, before he has time to convince himself it’s a bad idea. Harry lets out a little gasp of air against Louis’ lips when they first meet, but this isn’t the first time they’ve kissed and somehow their mouths settle into a rhythm that is so familiar it almost feels like they’ve been kissing for centuries. Perhaps they have though, and maybe this isn’t the first time they’ve met beneath the stars. Perhaps they’ve lived through many lives together to meet again in this one. 

Harry’s strong hands wrap around Louis’ body, one gripping his waist firmly and the other holding the back of his neck steady and Louis finds he simply cannot hold onto Harry any tighter, his hands that he has clutched in Harry’s hair seem content to tangle themselves there and never leave. Their lips are sweet at the beginning, tongues teasing each other and running along the seams of each other's mouths. But after a while of languidly kissing beneath the oak tree a carnal sort of passion ignites between them when Harry lets a throaty groan rumble from the corridor of his throat as Louis innocently tugs his hair. His mouth opens up like the hollow entrance of a cave, and Louis’ tongue shoots out to explore it, licking and teasing the cavern until Harry’s own tongue and lips repeat back with vigour. 

Harry’s hand sneaks further then, digging into Louis’ lower back and pushing him against him as if he’s trying to meld their bodies together as one, and this time it’s Louis’ turn to whimper. His feet are lazy and his limbs sag when Harry gently pushes him against the trunk of the tree, the bark scratching through his button up not even a bother in his mind since all he seems able to focus on is the taste and feel of Harry’s lips. 

His lips are left wet and tingling when Harry’s own slide off of them to kiss trails down his neck, and Louis shivers delicately against the bark of the tree as a desperate whine escapes his lips. Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder then and lets his green eyes peer out into the throngs of celebrating adults. 

“I don’t think he’s looking anymore” Harry says a little breathlessly as he stands up straighter, and Louis follows his eyeline towards the spot where Theo had rested, and sure enough, he’s nowhere to be seen. Suddenly reality hits Louis like a slap in the face, and he feels cold all over.

“Harry, I….I wanted to tell you earlier that….” Louis stutters out, and Harry turns his eyes towards him then with a dimming light flickering away from within them. 

“It’s alright, it was all for show, right? Nothing more to it. No need to explain” Harry tightly replies, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his blazer to try and alleviate the disappointment that he feels inside his stomach like a dead weight. But Louis shakes his head then in desperation, his hand shooting out to grab Harry around the elbow to pull him a couple of inches closer to him. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, and can feel it thrum inside of him like an imprisoned bird that is just on the cusps of freedom. He looks at Harry then, and he decides that for tonight at least, he can no longer choose to lie to himself. 

“I wanted to kiss you!” Louis blurts out, his words rushing from him like the flood of an open dam “Fuck it, I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I met you! I wanted it last night, and just now, and every other night since I first saw you” 

“What?” Harry all but whispers then when Louis lets him go to pace in front of the tree, his own trepidation causing his stuttering movements. He can’t even fully process the words he has just said, but my word, the softly adoring way Harry is looking at him right now makes his momentary courage feel very worth it.

“This whole time I’ve been lying to myself about how I feel about you, and I thought I could keep it down but I can’t anymore, Harry. I _can’t_. There’s just no hiding how I feel, and I’m just so tired of pretending all the time” Louis keeps pacing while he talks, his hands wildly pointing towards Harry the whole time he speaks. He isn’t even sure if he’s just letting all of his bottled up thoughts rush out of him for the sake of it or if he really is talking to Harry “Liam warned me….he warned me that I might lose my heart to you. And...I have. I know I have because I can’t fucking feel it inside of me anymore becuase I’ve just given it to you without even realising it. You own my heart now, Harry, and I don’t want it back” 

Louis heaves a breath into his lungs when he’s finally finished speaking, and he hadn’t even known that hot tears have escaped his eyes until he feels the cool night time breeze tickle against the wetness that now covers his cheeks. He wipes a hand across his face furiously, his brow creasing at his own weakness for crying, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind the tears since his own are pooling within the green of his eyes. 

They just stand there for a minute, both staring intensely at the other beneath the cover of veiny leaves and the dull glow of fairy lights, and suddenly the world wittles down to blue and green and any other colour seems to waver away into non existence. Louis isn’t sure who moves first, but he knows it’s unimportant because they’re lips collide with no consequence of who initiated the action and they melt against each other like two forged pieces of gold. Louis is rested against the tree again, and their limbs tangle like the ensnaring ivy that snakes upwards along the tree’s thick trunk and Harry’s lips against his are as gentle as the fluttering leaves in a breeze. 

They just kiss like that for a while, lazy and languid and sensual - completely intent to explore the others mouth, to taste and lick and become familiar with every groove of the others tongue and sharp indent of their teeth. Louis sighs against Harry’s lips when his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, tugging it forward and soothing the delicious ache with a swipe of his tongue. He shivers against him, his hands that have snuck underneath his blazer spreading against his back to pull him flush against him. 

Harry’s so warm against him that Louis feels he could just stay existing in his embrace for all eternity and never be unhappy. He’s like the comfort you feel when you step inside your front door after a long day at work, and it doesn’t matter if your apartment is tiny and that the paint is flaking because it’s _home_ \- and that’s how Louis feels being wrapped up in Harry. That he’s home and he’s safe and nothing bad can ever touch him within the confines of his tattooed arms. 

He kisses him more fervently then, Louis tongue and lips passionately dancing with Harry’s after he lets his large hands tangle in Louis’ hair. His lips dance against Louis’, pushing and pulling and tugging ever so addictively, and Louis is sure he’ll never get enough of this. Harry’s lips have the power to breathe sunlight into his lungs and make them blossom with flowers and vines, and somehow he feels like he might just suffocate if he keeps kissing him. But he keeps doing it anyway. 

Harry’s sensual and passionate, and his large hands hold Louis like he’s the most precious piece of fine china, but his tongue is filthily swirling against Louis’ and causing something in his lower belly to pull like a dull ache of a broken bone. Behind his lips he holds an almost aching adoration, like he’s trying to show Louis exactly how he feels with the movement of his lips against his. Louis thinks of Gemma’s words from earlier _“Sometimes our actions speak louder”_ and he grips Harry tighter when her voice swirls around in his head because he really wants Harry to know how he feels about him. 

His kiss turns delicate again after a while and his lips start to taste like the sweetness of a love sonnet - romantic and soul stirring - and so do Harry’s eyes of bright green as he pulls away to look at Louis. Their eyes lock together like the meeting of two meteorites that clash within the empty expanse of space, and suddenly the universe seems meagre in its existence when Louis can see all the wonderful lights within Harry’s eyes. 

He’s just so _beautiful_ , and Louis’ heart sings an operatic tune of desire inside his chest at the mere sight of him. Louis is sure he was constructed entirely just to worship him. 

“What have you done to me, Harry Styles?” Louis asks softly, a finger tracing the soft jut of Harry’s bottom lip. Harry kisses the tip of his finger with a dimpled smile, his own hand coming to clutch Louis’ wrist in its gentle hold. 

“The same thing you’ve done to me” Harry answers softly, bringing Louis’ hand down to rest above his beating heart. It’s beating like a hummingbird beneath the sheer salmon of his shirt, and Louis has to gulp down a lump in his throat at the thought that he does this to Harry “I don’t think I’ve ever cared for anyone the way I do for you. I want you, Louis, all of you. But only if you want me too” 

He leans down then to brush his lips ever so gently off of Louis’, and suddenly any grapple of reality that had begun to centre him is lost yet again with the touch of his lips. The soft murmur of music and conversing guests that lie in the near distance flutters away like a moth, and once again the only thing he can hear is his own deafening heartbeat. 

He suddenly feels sickeningly nervous, because Harry wants him, and Louis can see the aching desire burn inside his emerald eyes as he leans down yet again to taste Louis’ lips. They hover over his own like ghosts - barely there and almost frightening. Louis is certainly afraid right now with his knees trembling and his fingers clenching bone tight in the material of Harry’s blazer. His mind has almost gone numb since his crashing heartbeat has seemingly banished all thoughts that normally crowd his head, and all he can seem to focus on is the terrible want inside of him. It’s almost an ache, this urge of desperate wanting, and he doesn’t really know what to do with it - whether he should give in to it or walk away. 

He’s spent a long time trying not to drown beneath the water - that he’s almost forgotten who he is. Almost. Here with Harry he can finally feel the pieces of himself knit back together. 

“I want you too, Harry, so much” Louis whispers against his lips when he pulls him closer, a warmth blossoming inside of him when Harry pecks his lips gently over and over again. Their smiles mould together then when they keep kissing quick and sweet like two teenagers, and Harry’s warm hand seeks out Louis’ to pull him towards the house. 

It’s a miracle that they make it up the stairs at all since every chance that arrives to kiss they take it with an unabashed ferocity. They kiss in the nook by the front entrance, and erupt into a flurry of giggles when they nearly knock over a head of white marble that sits proudly upon a podium. They kiss against the wall of portraits that houses many finely crafted paintings, but Louis knows as he pins Harry against a large canvas of a lake that he’s the most beautiful piece of art to ever grace this house. The top of the stairs is where they stumble against the banister, Harry’s hands shooting out to grab Louis’ waist as he holds him against the curved gold, and both their mouths pant openly against the other when Harry’s hips begin to push and circle against Louis’. 

They finally make it to the bedroom, and Harry’s blazer gets discarded by the door along with their shoes that they kick off almost furiously. They both walk through the expanse of darkness then, kissing each other's mouths and necks and letting their hands roam over every piece of each other's bodies.

Louis isn’t really sure how he’s just so willingly allowed himself to fall into Harry’s arms when all this time he’s tried so desperately hard to suppress it. He aches for the feel of his mouth and his skin, but at the same time he’s almost confused as to why he hasn’t pushed him away yet. He’s almost ready for the demon inside his brain to whisper to him and claw his mind to shreds. The nefarious whisper doesn’t come however, and all Louis wants to focus on right now is the fact that he wants Harry more than anything. 

He wants him. It’s as simple and as puzzling as that, but he lets Harry gently move him to their bed and not one ounce of his body protests. Louis wants him; all of him, here right now, even if it means he’ll never get to have him again. He wants Harry’s hands, his body, those lips that have started to trail down his naked chest. 

“Louis, baby, you’re so beautiful. So perfect” Harry mumbles against his stomach, his hands trailing over his waist like the fluttering of butterflies wings and his lips mouth wetly near his navel. Louis shivers against the mattress, his back arching so he can lean up on his elbows to stare down at Harry. He can’t make him out fully in the dark, all he can see is the shadowy sliver of his face that is lit up by the moon who hangs outside their window. Louis wonders what she’d think of them now - if she’d be happy that they’ve finally admitted their feelings after she’s looked down on them attentively for so long. 

“You’re the beautiful one” Louis gasps out as Harry’s hands grip his black jeans to tug them down his legs. He nearly cries out when Harry’s hot mouth kisses the tented area of his boxers - he has to bite his fist to stop the drawn out moans from leaving him but Harry just shakes his head and gently pulls his hand away from his trembling lips. 

“You don’t have to be shy with me, Lou. I wanna hear you, yeah? Been dreaming of this for too long” Harry smiles up at him, and all Louis can do is nod dumbly when his boxers are pulled down his shaking legs. 

Louis finds there’s no room to be shy then, all nervous administrations are abandoned once Harry’s wet, hot mouth is around him and the sounds that he makes come from somewhere deep within him and he knows he couldn’t stop them if he tried to. Harry’s name falls from Louis’ mouth like a prayer, and he finds that this boy right here is slowly becoming his religion. He’s never been big on worship or prayer, but tonight Harry’s strong arms and solid chest can be the skeletal structure of a holy place and he can pour his sins into him like a confessional. And _oh God_ , how he wants to sin. 

He’s sure Harry is some sort of an angel, and that his body has been carved by those celestial beings that reign in Heaven and that his face has been sculpted in God’s image or something like that. But that mouth, holy sky above, that mouth was designed by the Devil himself, and Louis isn’t sure if he can take much more of it. Harry must feel him squirm impatiently because before Louis can let that tight bubble of passion explode from within him, Harry’s mouth is sliding off him with a wet trail of his tongue. 

He crawls up the bed then, his hips swaying in his tight black jeans as he straddles Louis’ naked body. He should feel exposed and vulnerable, but somehow he just feels like he’s finally found the person he’s supposed to be bare with - the one person who he gets to share himself with. Harry’s lips find his again, and Louis can taste himself off of Harry’s tongue and the lingering sweetness of champagne and his head spins headily with the intoxication it brings. 

“Ugh, Lou, you drive me crazy” Harry stutters out when Louis’ hand snakes beneath the front of his jeans, a warm palm rubbing over the bulge that strains against his boxers. Louis’ shaking a little from where he rests on the bed - it’s been a while since he’s done anything sexual with a boy, but somehow the little movements of his hand and the soft kisses that he places against his neck are causing deep groans to escape past Harry’s puffy, well kissed lips. He must be doing something right “I need you, Louis. Make love to me, please” 

Louis stalls his movements then and his lips hover over the pulse point of Harry’s throat because those words he’s just uttered are so soft and hold within them the weight of something much bigger than just sex. But it isn’t just sex that Louis wants with Harry - he wants something much more intimate and profound, something soul stirring and mind numblingly passionate, something that will leave imprints on his bones so that when he walks he’ll feel the deepness of it settle inside of him. 

Harry’s eyes are blown wide in the dark, his face burning silver as he looks down at Louis, and that wild hair of his is cascading all around his face like the weeping branches of a willow tree. 

“Really? You want me to?” is what Louis whispers out, almost not believing that Harry really, truly wants him this way. He brings his shaking hands to tuck the hair behind Harry’s ears, and when he smiles ever so brightly it causes the whole room to light up with brightness, and the moon nearly sinks beneath the dark clouds at the sight of him. 

“Only if you want to, Lou. I’d never do anything that you didn’t want to” Harry whispers, his own hands cupping Louis’ face “we can just cuddle if you want, or go back downstairs, I don’t mind as long as I’m with you” 

“No, baby, I want you too” Louis smiles up at Harry’s endearing face that is blushing like a rose, and he can’t help but find the apprehension in his expression to be ever so cute. 

“Do you really?” Harry has his bottom lip chewed between his teeth like he’s expecting a rejection, and suddenly all happiness is gone from Louis’ face when he is reminded of the way he’d pushed Harry away last night. 

He’s probably expecting the harsh sting of rejection to happen again, but it won’t. Not this time. Louis pulls Harry closer to him and brushes his lips back and forth off of his cushiony mouth as gentle as pages turning in an old book. Harry sighs against him, and his large body sags into Louis’ like a billowing feather than cascades in a breeze. 

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Harry. How could I not want you?” Louis shakily breathes out, and for a moment it’s just Harry’s eyes staring at him, and Louis gazes back with all the weight of sabaism behind his cerulean pools that begin to tear up a little with how full his heart feels right now. 

Sweet nothings are whispered between every wet smack of lips against each other and every soft rustle of the sheets as Harry turns to lay on his back, and Louis can’t get enough of hearing those gentle compliments fall from Harry’s lips and he can’t stop returning them. He whispers things against his skin as he pulls his jeans off and kisses up his thighs, and before he nervously takes Harry into his mouth he looks up at him and tells him with his eyes just how much he wants him. 

Want and desire and the tremendous weight of physical declarations burst from every pore of their bodies, and sometime between rolling around sweatily together and kissing until their lungs give out and thrusting their hips together, the moon has decided to slither away under her blanket of darkness to give them privacy. Now all that rests outside the window is the faint echo of stars and the now brightening blue horizon that looks like the blending of watercolours on a canvas. 

They’re spent and satiated beneath the covers later on, their hands intertwined and held up against the ceiling and Harry has been tracing the lines and bends of Louis’ fingers for a good few minutes, and brings them to his mouth to kiss with gentle puckers of his lips. Louis stares at the coffered ceiling, his eyes tracing the thick beams of varnished wood that criss cross against the ivory paint, and he tries so hard to focus on the beating of his heart and not the trickling of the doubtful thoughts that are trying to slowly crowd his mind. 

“Are you okay?” Harry whispers from beside him as he gently tugs Louis’ fingers, his voice cutting through the haziness of Louis’ mind and anchoring him to reality. 

He looks over to him then and can’t help the flutter in his stomach when he takes in his messy hair and red lips. He’s just made love to this boy, and it’s such a weird and wonderful thought that he can’t even comprehend it fully, and his mind is overtaken then by the memory of Harry calling out his name and clinging to him for dear life. Louis shifts to his side then, and gently pulls one hand away from Harry’s grasp to trace over the bite mark on his left shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine” Louis answers him softly, his fingers circling the tender skin of Harry’s shoulder. He tilts his head to kiss it then, hoping that his gentleness can make up for the way he’d suckled on his skin while coming above him in a frantic flurry of passion. 

“Do you regret being with me?” Harry asks him, his voice almost non-existent and Louis nearly chokes on the swoosh of air that enters his lungs. 

“No! Harry, please don’t think that, baby” Louis lifts his head up from his shoulder, his wide blue eyes peering into Harry’s face that looks like it’s on the edge of crumbling “I don’t regret it, at all. This was amazing, _you’re_ amazing” 

“What’s wrong then? You’ve been quiet for a while now, I just thought that maybe you were thinking this hadn’t been such a good idea” Harry tells him bashfully, a deep rosy blush colouring his face. The watery blue of the sky outside is washing in through the windows and casting against the marble of Harry’s skin and turning his tattoos into dark shadowy sketches against his limbs and chest. Louis sighs heavily then as he lets a finger trace over the feathers of one swallow. 

“It sounds so strange, but I’m just thinking of my dad. What he’d think if he...Ah, you know what, it doesn’t matter” Louis shakes his head then, deciding that voicing aloud his thoughts might be too embarrassing or weighted for this situation. He’s just been shown utter adoration and been made feel pleasure like he’s never felt before, and he doesn’t want to tarnish anything with his inherently vicious thoughts. Harry shuffles under the sheets though, putting his head in his hand as he leans on his elbow and eyes Louis expectantly - like he wants to listen to whatever plight is bothering him. 

“Louis, you can tell me anything, you know that, right?” Harry tells him as he brings his other hand to brush the sweaty tendrils of hair from Louis’ forehead. 

“It’s just something that happened years ago, it doesn’t even matter” Louis shrugs, his fingers nimbly fidgeting with the duvet covers and avoiding Harry’s gaze. 

“It matters to me if it matters to you. I want to know you, Louis. Really know you” Harry tells him, fingers slipping down his face to tap against Louis’ temple like he wants to unlock every intricate thought that rests beneath his skull.

“You might not like me much anymore if you knew how fucked up I am” Louis mutters darkly, but Harry just shifts closer to him beneath the warm covers. 

“Nonsense, I’d never think that” Harry tucks his hand under Louis’ chin to gently tip his head to look at him “you don’t have to be closed off with me, Lou”

“It’s scary letting someone in though” Louis nervously lifts his eyes to stare at him “you could take one look inside and never want to come back to me” 

Harry doesn’t answer with words, he just leans across the small space between them and places his lips ever so gently against Louis’, one hand cradling his neck to hold him close while their mouths gently caress each other, and Louis can’t help but let a soft sigh waver from him when Harry’s touch causes every tight knot in his body to dissipate. The truth of his past lies like a ten tonne weight on his shoulders, ready to cause his knees to buckle and his bones to crack but here right now he feels like he can shirk some of its burden with his honesty. Perhaps talking can soothe out the knots inside his mind that have jumbled together in the years that have passed. 

“I had a boyfriend when I was sixteen” Louis mumbles against Harry’s lips, his eyes fluttering open as Harry pulls away gently to listen to whatever it is Louis needs to get off his chest “his name was Daniel and he went to my school back home, we played on the football team together and used to do homework with one another at my kitchen table. I had this really silly crush on him, but at the same time I was almost afraid of how I felt, you know? But back then I wasn’t nearly as scared as I am now. I just accepted myself for who I was, and I decided not to tell anyone until I really understood it all. So I kept it a secret, and then one day Daniel and I kissed and we just started fooling around with each other without telling anyone. I knew John, my dad, had never been too accepting but I hoped maybe one day he’d be fine with it” 

“He never was though?” Harry asks him with a frown and Louis shakes his head sadly. 

“Daniel and I were only dating for a little while, my Mum was sick and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone because I was so confused and I was hurting because I knew I didn’t have lots of time left with her. So I just acted like everything was fine and I bottled it all in, but to this day I regret never telling her, and maybe she knew and maybe she didn’t but I should have just let her know before she died because sometimes I feel like she died without really knowing who I am, you know? And it fucking hurts” Louis shakily sucks in a breath, his body relaxing a little when Harry’s hand rubs gentle strokes on his bare arm and he continues “but after she died I went to live with my dad for the summer, and I finally thought he was going to step up and be a parent because Mum was gone. Daniel would come over sometimes to just hang out, but one day Dad burst into my room while we were kissing and he blew a fuse. Started shouting about how he didn’t want any son of his to be gay, and how Daniel was to blame and how we were disgusting. He kicked me out, like properly threw me out of the house and I ended up having to walk all the way home because I didn’t have change for the train. I hated him so much for everything he had done to us when we were younger, leaving us for another woman and breaking my Mum’s heart, but he really broke me that day. Daniel wouldn’t speak to me after that and when I went back to school after summer a rumour had spread about me and every time I would walk into the boys changing rooms at football practice they’d all leave or make a comment about how I was gay. I think Daniel was afraid I’d say something about him, so he spread that shit about me first, but I never would have. I’m not that type of person. I’ve spent most of my teenage life being sneered at for who I am, and every time I’d so much as look at a boy I’d hear my dad’s voice. He was disgusted by me, and I’m sure he would be if he could see me now” 

“I’m so sorry, baby” Harry whispers, pulling Louis close to his chest and resting his lips on his jaw “I hate that all of that happened to you. I wish your dad was supportive but you shouldn’t want to hold his opinion in your mind at all” 

“I know, but he walked away from my family when I was seven. I remember just sitting up on the couch with Lottie, staring out the living room window and watching Mum run after him down the driveway. She was begging and fighting with him, she’d found out he was sleeping with some young girl from town, and he just got in his car and drove away. He never even looked back once” Louis chokes out a shaky sound that seems like a buried sob “I was seven years old, and I have never forgotten the way he walked out our front door and never even looked back at his two kids. I loved my dad, I idolised him. He was the best footie player in my eyes, the best pancake flipper, the best at doing voices during stories and I’d always tried so hard to impress him with football tricks or how I’d learned to cycle without stabilisers and he just threw all of my love for him away because he wanted to bang some travel agent. I used to lay awake at night listening to my Mum cry and I wondered if he left because of us, because he didn’t want Lottie or me to be his kids. I felt useless and rejected, and I think I’ve buried who I really am because I’ve always wanted my dad back and I thought that if I was the perfect son that he wanted then he’d love me and come back and then when my Mum died it was like I had nobody, and the one person who should have supported me kicked me out of the house because I was kissing a boy. I’m so pathetic for even wanting his approval but that’s how it is” 

“It’s not pathetic at all, Louis. You went through a lot and your dad should have been there for you, it’s only natural that you’d want to be accepted by him” Harry tells him softly “but please don’t let him get to you anymore” 

“I did let him get to me, for so long all I’ve heard inside my head is his voice telling me I’m disgusting and wrong. It’s all I heard when I first met you and every time I’d think of you. I was so stupid, Harry. I avoided you every chance I got because I knew that I liked you and I didn’t want my feelings to turn into anything so when I’d see you at parties or when you’d come over to talk to Liam I would just run away from you. You must have thought I was the biggest prick to you” Louis rambles then, his lips loose with the truth and his shoulders caving with the weight of it. 

“I never thought that you were, so don’t think that of yourself” Harry reassures him, gentle fingers knotting in his hair “I’ve only ever thought that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen” 

“You know what? I haven’t heard his voice in my head once tonight” Louis whispers, leaning up a little to look down at Harry who is now sprawled on his back. 

“Good, please don’t ever listen to it again” Harry winds his hands around Louis’ neck to pull him down to meet his lips. 

Louis doesn’t answer him, he just tilts his head so he can join their mouths, and any and all battering thoughts of negativity that have bobbed to the surface of the ocean that lies within his mind now sink like a wrecked ship. Louis just keeps kissing Harry as if he's pouring all his pain and confusion and unsaid love for him into the crevice of his mouth, and all the while he waits for the darkness to settle inside of him yet again. 

But it doesn’t rise within him this time, and the only thing that does is the glittering sun that bursts near the horizon, swathing them in a yellow glow as it creeps through the window. They don’t stop kissing until the last shadow of nightfall vanishes and the world turns golden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah...that happened! I'm not that great at writing smut like I don't know how people do it, if you do you're amazing! I love reading it but whenever I write it I just don't feel like it's good so I just left it all kind of vague. Who knows I might try for some of the other chapters! But yeah they definitely used protection and lube and all of that but I just didn't write in the details as I just couldn't find a pace that fit. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it!  
> Much love  
> Taylor x


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone ! Hope you've all been keeping well ! I know it's been a while since I last updated but I've literally been swamped these past few weeks. I've gone back to college, at night, learning sign language and doing Creative Arts in Early Childhood Education so between working full time at the school, doing night classes and assignments I've just been utterly swamped. Please forgive me, and take this chapter as an apology. Hope it's okay ! Oh, and I also came out to my family ! So what a month it's been !  
> As always, enjoy  
> Taylor xx

_**I wonder,** _

_**How much love in this world,** _

_**hides behind silence?** _

_**\- the random stories** _

The soft exploration of fingertips against skin is what wakes Louis the next morning. His eyelids flutter like the soft flap of a moth's wings as he feels the gentle touches caress the curved jut of his collarbones and the rounded out plains of his shoulders. The lazily drawn patterns continue down to his chest, light nimble fingers sketching across the freckled skin just above the heart that is fluttering rapidly beneath his ribcage, and the delicate touches make him shiver underneath the cool white sheets of the bed. 

__

When he feels the roughened tips of fingers trace their way back up to his neck and over his jawline his lips open without a second thought and out swirls a wistful sigh that drags endlessly past his teeth and floats towards the ceiling. Louis just feels so content right now, like he could stay here forever, tucked tranquilly beside the warm weight of the body pressed against him. 

__

He feels safe beneath the chalk white sheets, as if nothing but the gentle heat of the sun that is coaxing itself through the open window and the exploring hands of Harry Styles can touch him. Louis wishes then that everything else in this menial life could become insignificant for just a few hours - washed away in fluid colours like a canvas of bleak nothingness - and all that could remain in existence is himself and the tattooed boy who now presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. 

__

Louis slowly tears his eyes open at the feel of the delicate lips that begin to brush over his own, and as he does the bright light of early morning washes over him in an iridescent buttery gold as the sun filters into the room in dusty chunks. He blinks a few times - hears a throaty chuckle float within the ether above his head - and then his eyes focus on the outrageously handsome vision that beams down at him. Louis can’t help but twitch his lips into a smile as he looks at Harry - all messy hair, plump lips and shining, green eyes - and he shifts under the covers like a satisfied kitten when Harry’s fingers trace over the bump of his nose. 

__

“Morning, Lou” Harry’s voice is raspy and deep like the crackle of thunder in the night sky, and as his words wash over Louis and settle deep to imprint onto the surface of his chest he can’t help but let another sigh whistle past his lips. Louis sighs an awful lot around Harry, he thinks - never exasperatedly at all - but rather the quietly romanticised sound of one so very much in love. 

__

“Morning, Harry” the words whoosh from him like a gust of winter air, and they’re said so wistfully that he blushes - he can feel the heat bloom against his skin like a blossoming rose of the deepest scarlet. 

__

“You sleep well?” Harry asks him as he props himself up on his elbow, dark hair curtaining one side of his face and splaying across his back. He lets his other hand continue to explore the smooth skin of Louis’ chest - one fingertip swirling and drawing patterns above where his heart rests. Louis can feel it pick up inside of him like the rapid thrum of a hummingbird, and Harry’s full lips quirk into a smile when he feels it sing beneath his fingertips. 

__

“Yeah, slept well. Probably better than I have in a long time” Louis admits - he can feel that ever traitorous blush start to deepen even more across the lightly freckled plains of his cheeks “have you been awake long?” 

__

“Truthfully? I haven’t really slept at all” Harry mutters, a dark blossoming of scattered bashfulness spreading across his face “I couldn’t really sleep while you were beside me. I just kept thinking that everything had been a dream, or that I’d wake up and find out that you were never really here. I’ve just liked you for so long Louis, really liked you. I  _ do  _ really like you, I’m kind of crazy about you actually, and I just couldn’t really believe last night was real, you know? Ah don’t mind me I’m being sappy, and stupid, just don’t listen to me” 

__

From where he lies splayed out underneath the gloriously looming figure above him, all Louis can do is stare with awed eyes and a mouth that is hanging open like an unhinged door. He feels ridiculously vacant for about a minute, and then all battering thoughts that crowd his mind rush forwards as incessantly wild as the ocean at midnight, and each thought that passes by his brain makes his heart speed up underneath the skin and bones of his chest. 

__

_ I’m kind of crazy about you actually. _

__

Harry’s words make something within him sing and soar like a bird that has used its wings for the first time, and the smile that paints itself on his face then and there is as fluid and as lovely as the first blooming flower in Spring. 

__

“I’m kind of crazy about you too” Louis’ voice is just a whisper, the soft languidness of it caressing the two swallows against Harry’s chest as it whistles past his lips and puffs against his tattooed skin. 

__

He shivers delicately then when Harry’s hands clasp his face and just before he leans down to place his lips onto Louis’, those green eyes of his that resemble a pair of iridescent emeralds bore deep into Louis’ own eyes of bright blue. There’s something that flickers beneath the jewelled swamps that makes Louis’ heart and stomach tighten like well tuned violin strings, and he looks back at Harry with an expression he is sure looks slightly bewildered, as if he’s searching for something within the green depths. He thinks he can see something so undeniably  _ soft  _ swirl within Harry’s eyes, some form of adoration that is bordering on love - or perhaps it’s already love and Harry’s standing on the precipice of it. 

__

Louis isn’t sure how to feel about that - harbouring his own coveted feelings for Harry is one thing, but seeing them reflected back to him in all their tremendous terror is another. Yes, of course Harry knows that Louis likes him - hadn’t he just told him he’s mad for him? But love is another thing entirely on the spectrum of devotion, and Louis had only come to terms with himself just last night (truly he feels he hasn’t exactly accepted himself just yet, he feels that perhaps he’s made an allowance for weakness and just shoved off his own self loathing into a corner of his mind) and the fear that has so often clawed itself deep into his bones is still lingering fresh and fertile within his veins. 

__

Despite everything he’s allowed himself to indulge in thus far, he’s still not sure who he should be. 

__

But who he is, and who he should be is of no consequence to him when Harry presses their lips together - all nagging thoughts that are aching to swim up to the surface of his mind all but dissipate into the sand as he feels the gentle kiss against his mouth. It’s sweet and slow, like how the sunlight dances its kiss against swaying daffodils in a field or how the first snow of winter falls slowly from the air in a waltz, and Louis can’t help but melt against the mattress rather hopelessly as Harry kisses him so gently. 

__

Louis kisses back just as sweetly, and all rather disrupting thoughts of how he should feel about Harry are paused within the undeviating basement of his brain. 

__

He doesn’t think, he just  _ feels _ . 

__

All he wants to focus on right now is Harry and how warm he is and how soft his lips are and how his curls that ensnare themselves around Louis’ fingers are like silk. So he just moulds himself against him and kisses back, their lips dancing together like feathers and the tips of their tongues jutting out of their panting mouths every so often to taste the seam of the others lips, and it seems the more they kiss the stronger the sun seems to glow outside until the whole room is swathed in an ambience of gold and warm yellow. 

__

“I think we’ll have to get up” Harry whispers against Louis’ lips, pulling away just a fraction of an inch, his mouth still hotly hovering over Louis’ own “we’ve to be at the church in an hour” 

__

“Can’t we just stay here all day? Pretend we’re sick or something?” Louis whines, his eyes still closed and his hands still tangled within the thick mass of Harry’s curls. 

__

“Staying in bed all day with you seems like the plan of the century, but unfortunately, Poppy would probably decapitate us both if we didn’t go to her wedding” Harry tells him as he presses light kisses against the base of Louis’ neck, making him delightfully shiver against the bed. 

__

“Yeah, you’re probably right” Louis sighs, pouting petulantly for good measure and Harry groans deeply above him - the sound irritated and drawn out at the simple thought that he now has to reluctantly drag himself away from Louis. But drag himself away he does, with frowning lips and green eyes that begin to slowly dim under their thick curtains of feathery lashes. 

__

“I’ll take the first shower if that’s alright? Then I’ll head downstairs to practise” Harry fiddles his fingers in the air like he’s playing some phantom piano that Louis can’t see. He smiles brightly when Louis nods, shifting his long legs out of the bed and pulling the covers back to reveal his tattooed torso that seems to glint like newly cut marble under the swathing ambience of the sun. 

__

Louis’ lips are kissed adoringly once more as Harry leans down, his soft locks of deep chestnut tickling over Louis’ face and jaw as he does, and then Harry’s cupid mouth is gone as if it had never been there at all - just like the imprint of a ghost - and when Louis’ eyes eventually flutter back open, Harry is stalking towards the bathroom door and closing it gently behind him. 

__

Alone now, with nothing but the sound of mute, far away water hitting off porcelain and his own breathing, Louis is faced with the crippling tickle of the well buried thoughts that now ache to burst through the surface of his mind. It’s almost as if last night had somehow managed to escape the usual murky destruction of Louis’ very repressed personality - somehow the little demon that has perched itself within his soul had fallen into an unbothered slumber - but now he can feel the utter horror weave its way through the gaps in his ribs, blooming like ensnaring vines inside his body and he feels it take root in his brain like a well watered plant. 

__

Perhaps he’s not entirely free just yet.

__

He’s known all along - he’d even known last night while caught up in the throws of passion with Harry - that escaping from his very own prison of identity will not be a task so easily championed, and pulling out the rotted weeds of self deprecation and horridly vicious concepts of sexuality that live inside of him will not be painless. He’s lived too long with his own self hatred, and with the leering voice of his father tormenting him from the back of his mind that he knows reaching deep down into himself will be hard. He’ll come up with scratched and bloodied palms from trying to tug the winding branches of thorns from his heart. 

__

But what was it that Anne Bronte had once said….?  _ But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose _ , Louis remembers, his mind grappling with the dusty parts of his consciousness to bring up the quote he’d read some time ago in some long forgotten book. But he knows the sentiment of such poetry is right, because he can’t allow himself to want Harry unless he’s ready to admit to himself that he needs to dig out those hideously malign parts of his mind that speak to him so cruelly - hissing and clawing like beasts from the fiery bowels of Lucifer's paradise - and he knows he must rid himself of the past as best he can, but somehow the memories and the self slaughtering mindset won’t shift so easily. 

__

He sighs now, greatly and heavily as he sits up in the bed, and he hopes that some of the leaden and tremendous weight that somehow always rests on his shoulders can dissipate just a little as he does, but still that niggle of discomfort rests at the base of his skull where he is sure all of his thoughts are waiting to burst from him like water breaking through a dam. 

__

Louis really likes Harry, No, he  _ loves  _ him. He knows he loves him as sure as he knows that the flowers adore the soft pattering of falling rain and how the sun lives to kiss the pantone blue of the sky, or how he knows he must rely on his heart to keep him alive. He can feel love and desire and all those sickening emotions that come hand in hand with adoration burrow themselves deep into the fertile soil of his very tattered soul, and there they’ve taken root. Now, wild green eyes and curly hair have come and caused confusion to also bloom within the meanderingly demented garden of his mind. 

__

Why can’t he just be okay with who he is? 

__

Why can’t he feel freedom, real unfettered freedom now that he’s felt Harry’s touch? 

__

Why does he still feel as if he’s going to be swallowed by a mass of darkness that will eat up all the light in the world and his sense of self with it? 

__

After last night’s passionate events, he should feel so unshackled and weightless - he’d made love to Harry last night and had whispered his want for him in his ear and had laid with him until the sun came up and kissed his arched mouth so sweetly. 

__

Now he should feel as if he’s shed his skin, like he’s ready to start afresh and become who he really is. But somehow it’s like he’s just sitting here waiting for the end of the world to happen and he’s doing nothing about it. He’s waiting for his own mind to once again turn against him and ruin whatever semblance of peace he has managed to grapple in his tired hands and hold close to his chest. 

__

He just hopes he can swim on the surface for as long as he can before claws grip his ankles to pull him beneath the waves and drown him. 

__

“Hey, showers all yours” Louis hears the voice waver towards his ears and he jumps a little on the bed, his bleary eyes ripping away from the lace trim of the bedroom curtains he had been mindlessly focused on. He’s unaware of how much time has passed, but from behind his eyelids there is now a sting like a sharp ache that’s arisen from staring aimlessly at one spot for too long, so he guesses it’s been a while. Tormenting thoughts of self ruin can somehow warp one's sense of time. 

__

He turns on the bed then, looking over his shoulder to see Harry with nothing but a pair of grey boxers on and a towel in his hand that he ruffles through his soaking hair as he stands in the bathroom doorway. 

__

Louis doesn’t know what comes over him then - perhaps a tidal wave of mixed emotions, or the stirring discomfort of being in love - but one second he’s sitting there staring at the two lovebirds on Harry’s chest and the next he’s up on his feet and heading towards him. Absolutely  _ fuck  _ the malicious thoughts that have fed their way into his heart - they can lay there and fester for now - floating aimlessly until Louis becomes weak yet again and allows them to take ahold of him. Right now all he wants is to feel Harry’s lips, and the warmth of his chest against his and the strength of his tattooed arms wrapped around his waist. 

__

_ I love you, _ Louis wants to say, _ I love you boundlessly and achingly, and I think my heart has no right living inside of my body when it so freely belongs to you. _

__

But instead he just gently pulls Harry forwards by the elbows when he reaches him, and the world seems to sigh with a tremendously held in breath as their lips meet. Harry’s violent towelling of his hair stops almost comically short then, and Louis can hear the dull thud of the cotton off the wooden floor as he abandons the towel from his grasp, and then his large hands are caressing the soft skin of Louis’ face and holding it so gently as if he’s afraid he’ll crack like porcelain. 

__

Maybe he would. Perhaps Louis would shatter like glass if Harry were to press him too much, or hold him too close. He’d dissipate into dust if Harry were to dig his fingers deep into the closed off parts of Louis’ soul. Harry could potentially ruin him if Louis only allowed it, and the battering way his heart crashes inside of his chest as Harry kisses him tells him that perhaps he’s already on his way to being utterly destroyed. Maybe in the best way possible. 

__

But maybe, just maybe - that nefariously deviant voice inside of him says - you’ll ruin Harry first, you’ll break him with your own weakness to be someone you’re not. But he chokes down the thought, letting the acidic whispers inside his head to be muffled just momentarily as he brushes his lips back and forth off of Harry’s. 

__

“I meant what I told you earlier” Louis whispers against Harry’s lips as he pulls away, their mouths humming against the others and their fingers gently caressing the others skin “I  _ am  _ crazy about you, Harry. I want you to know that” 

__

“I do know that” Harry smiles - beams really, with sparkling eyes and a deep dimple near the corner of his perfectly rounded mouth, and one hand comes to run through Louis’ bed head, his own hair sopping wet against his freckled shoulders. 

__

“I really hope you do” Louis croaks out, words now becoming hard to get past the forming lump in his throat. He suddenly feels like he could cry - like this is a sort of ghostly goodbye somehow - but he swallows thickly and attempts a smile “you’ve just overtaken every single one of my thoughts and every beat of my heart since I met you. Don’t ever doubt that, Harry Styles. Whatever else I ever say to you, know that that’s my truth, nothing else matters” 

__

“I don’t doubt you, Lou” Harry’s voice is quiet, like the shushing ocean at midnight as it lazily laps against the shore, and his vivid jade eyes search Louis’ face like he’s just discovered a chest full of the world's most beautiful treasures “and I hope you know that I’m serious about you, this isn’t just some one time thing for me. I want to be with you. For real” 

__

Louis doesn’t say anything - he can’t bring himself to speak through the growing ache that is settling itself in his throat like poison. His mind battles inside of him, warring with conflicting thoughts beneath his skull and he blinks away a pooling of traitorous tears that seem to have collected around his eyelashes. One side of him is demanding he throw everything he’s ever known to the wind, it wants him to scatter this false ideal of himself like flower petals caught in a breeze and he wants that side of himself to win. He pains for it. 

__

But a louder, more sinister part of himself, the one that has always convinced him that wanting boys is wrong, seems to scream almost deafeningly like the roar of an imprisoned demon. That very part of him is now telling him that aching for Harry’s lips on his is a sin. But he tries not to listen to it, he tunes it out like he’s flipping off a radio station and leans up once more to kiss the beautiful boy before him. 

__

He can’t answer with words, but he wants Harry to know - to feel - how much he wants to be with him too. For real. 

__

“I’ll start to get ready then” Louis pulls away, dropping his arms from around Harry’s neck and stepping back with a watery smile. He hopes that Harry thinks his sudden teary eyed expression is brought on by Harry’s honest confession - and in truth it is because of that - but what he doesn’t know is that Louis is fighting what he’s convinced is a losing battle inside of himself “I’ll meet you downstairs?” 

__

“Hurry back to me” Harry smiles, swiftly kissing Louis’ cheek before he walks away towards the closet by the wall. Louis stands there for a moment before his limbs decide to function - his mind caught up with the fact that half of him is trying to hurry itself  _ away  _ from Harry.

* * *

The soft tinkling of Chopin’s Waltz greets Louis when he eventually heads downstairs, and he can’t stop his feet from following the direction of the delicate music that now permeates the ether around him with a melancholy romance that somehow embodies his own internal struggles. 

__

He finds Harry tucked behind the shiny surface of the Steinway, his eyes closed and his fingers gracefully caressing the keys, the notes barely there but tickling the atmosphere with their gentle kiss. His green eyes open when he hears Louis’ footsteps, and the sudden change in Harry’s expression when he sees him - so soft and full of adoration - makes the rusty ventricles of Louis’ heart spring to life. 

__

“You look beautiful, Louis” Harry breathes out wistfully, that perfectly carved dimple etching against his skin and Louis can’t help but feel self conscious in that moment as Harry’s eyes rake over him with nothing but appreciation swimming within them and a very delicate spark of lust. 

__

Louis doesn’t feel beautiful - not when someone like Harry sits there in all black behind a classical instrument, somehow embodying the likes of Wilde and Keats with his romantic aura of carefully constructed beauty. Louis feels rather drab to be honest, in his black trousers and grey blazer that he’d packed on a whim. The light grey shirt he wears now seems awfully tight around the collar, and he fidgets with his tie, the black satin getting knotted around his fingers as he stands there underneath the weighty romanticism of Harry’s gaze. 

__

“Thanks, babe” Louis smiles, collecting the small semblance of rationality that seemed to have slithered somewhere within him as he makes his way towards the piano “you don’t look half bad yourself. This might seem a bit indecent though” 

__

Harry chuckles as Louis prods the exposed piece of tattooed skin that is now being unabashedly shown due to the buttons that Harry has left open. He looks wonderfully beautiful though, all in black, with a delicate scarf of paisley around his neck and Louis thinks the likes of Wilde would probably have spiralled into an incognizant bout of speechlessness if he had ever seen him. 

__

“You sound like Gemma” Harry smiles as Louis draws patterns on his chest with the tips of his fingers “she said the same thing” 

__

“Hmm, well I never said indecent was bad” Louis says slowly with a smirk, his hands now stopping their tracing of Harry’s chest to come to rest upon the plains of his handsome face “you look beautiful by the way. You always look beautiful, ‘s not fair really” 

__

“Nonsense” Harry all but whispers as he leans forward, large ringed hands coming to slide up Louis’ thighs “ _ you’re _ unfairly gorgeous, I don’t know how I’ll be able to be with you all day and not die of torment” 

__

“Die of torment? How very dramatic of you, Harold” Louis laughs, but his giggles die down once he can feel the soft swoosh of Harry’s breath against his face and can almost feel the ghostly hovering of his lips on his “but I think I understand you. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop kissing you today, now that I can” 

__

The truth bubbles from his lips like an unyielding burst of waves, and before he can even think to stop them his words flow from him unabashed and utterly honest. He can feel the soft niggling of something deviant tickle his brain, but the overpowering blush that now creeps over his face is more prominent than his negative thoughts. 

__

“You don’t have to stop. Ever. Not if you don’t want to” Harry gently replies, his hands cupping Louis’ face even tighter and his smile imprinting against Louis’ own mouth. He leans in then, and sense and rational thinking all but flies out of the open French windows and into the sky blue ether. Louis is lost then in a world that consists of gentle yet passionate lips and the feel of chestnut curls between his fingers. 

__

_ How about I keep kissing you forever? _ , Louis would love to say. Forever seems like a long time, but with Harry forever wouldn’t be long enough. But he remains cowardly and submissive to his doubts so he doesn’t say anything, just gently pulls away after what feels like languid hours spent kissing. 

__

“So how’s the music coming along?” Louis asks when he’s pulled away from Harry’s hungry lips. He pecks him one last time, gently and softly, and swivels on the piano bench to get more comfortable. He tries not to look too much at the looming keys that look like bared teeth before him, his mind now awash with plentiful memories of a life that seems hundreds of years past. 

__

“I’ve practised as much as I can now” Harry shrugs, running his smooth fingertips along the ivory keys. 

__

“Not that you needed much practice” Louis nudges him with his elbow, a confident smirk plastering onto his face “I’d say you could play in your sleep” 

__

“Yeah, probably. But I’ve been playing since I was two, so I’ve had a lot of time to get it right” Harry says fondly “do you play any instruments? Most theatre kids play something, right?” 

__

“A theatre kid? You’ve honestly insulted me, you daft boy!” Louis pinches the soft skin of Harry’s thigh, omitting a giggle from him and a gentle shove in the side “I’m an English major, I’ll have you know! Theatre is a hobby” 

__

“Alright, alright Mr English Literature Major” Harry genially mocks with a smirk “do you play any instruments?” 

__

“I used to play the piano actually. I learned when I was very young” Louis’ voice gets quieter now, the heart in his chest that had been content up until now decides to plummet like a heavy stone that’s just been tossed in the ocean. Harry doesn’t seem to pick up on Louis’ quiet heartache, instead turning to face him with a beaming smile on his handsome face. 

__

“Really? Do you want to play together now?” Harry’s excitement is accompanied by a flurry of upbeat notes that he expertly crafts upon the piano keys, but Louis just shakes his head, the notes deftly falling quiet and blending with the tangible silence that now hangs between them. 

__

“I haven’t played in a long time...not since…” Louis takes a deep breath, deciding that there really is no point in hiding the fact from Harry, not when he’s always so unwaveringly honest when he talks to Louis “Not since my Mum died. I used to play for her all the time, we had a little piano at home that she bought me when I was eight. She used to love all the classics, you know? Everything from Bach to Horowitz and I’d play it all for her. Even when she came home to die she’d sit there in the living room, half asleep, and ask me to play for her. I just haven’t since then” 

__

“Oh, love, I’m sorry” Harry whispers out, his bottom lip a little wobbly but Louis soothes any guilt that may be bubbling up inside of him with a gentle caress of his fingers against his jaw “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known and -” 

__

“Exactly, you didn’t know” Louis softly shushes him “it’s not your fault. It’s just hard for me to even think about playing again, because every time I even think of it, I just see her face and I remember how happy it made her, and how she’s not here now” 

__

“I can’t imagine what it was like losing your Mum” Harry frowns deeply, little creases of hurt etching delicately near his eyes as he does “if you ever want to talk about her or about anything, I’m here for you, Lou. I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?”

__

“I think just being with you makes some of the pain go away” Louis tells him, his eyes intently gazing into Harry’s wondrous green ones and as he does he finds himself lost in the most comforting way possible. His honesty today has almost been enough to perhaps silence him forever, but the words keep coming out and he can’t seem to stop them. Perhaps that should worry him, that him being this honest and genuine in his affections won’t last long - that perhaps the malevolent part of him is allowing his weakness just to have it taken away from him. But right now he can’t seem to worry too much - not when Harry is looking at him so fondly and softly. 

__

“Also I’m sure she’d think I was utter shit if she ever got to hear you play, she’d probably never want to listen to me again” Louis chuckles then, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

__

“What was her favourite song? I’ll play for her now” Harry announces, swivelling rather professionally on the shiny piano bench and cracking out his long fingers. Louis just blinks at him rather dumbly for a second, and then when his voice decides to come back to him he answers mutely. 

__

“Nocturne by Chopin, that was always one of her favourites” 

__

Harry just smiles at him before pecking his lips ever so softly, a barely there kiss that leaves the very deepest parts of Louis lighting up from the inside out. He watches in utter astonishment as Harry begins to play, the familiar melancholy notes rising in the air so beautifully like the fluttering of a flock of birds in the spring air. Louis watches on, wondering what his mother would have thought of Harry, and what she would have thought of her son being in love with him. 

__

Louis is almost certain his mother would have adored the boundlessly sincere boy with the curly hair and wild eyes, and she would have wanted Louis to be happy. 

__

He wants to be happy too, he wants that  _ desperately _ , but the ever warring sides of his mind will not allow him to reach out and grasp happiness fully and unapologetically. He tries to just focus on the song, and the unwavering kindness of the boy beside him that is now mastering a classic in the hopes of serenading Louis’ mother's memory, and he’s just filled with utter love for Harry that it’s threatening to overwhelm him. 

__

He pushes down his negative thoughts, and tries to think of Harry and nothing else, and somehow the opposing side of his mind goes silent - and for now he’ll welcome the silence before the world becomes too loud again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is doing well! This update has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for ages, but I've finally gotten time to edit it and put it out. I hope you all enjoy, and that you've had a happy holiday and that this new year will be better for everyone.  
> As always,  
> Much love  
> Taylor xx

_**“You have a place in my heart no one else could ever have”** _

_**F. Scott Fitzgerald** _

White confetti soars down in thick, tumbling bunches that flurry within the warm breeze, and Louis has to blink away a fistful that scatters unceremoniously upon his face as he stands outside the small congregational chapel. The stone church stands devoutly beneath the protective shadow of about a dozen apple trees, and one very grand looking cherry blossom that’s thulian petals sway with the small spurts of wind that wavers through the chapel yard and its adjoining cemetery. It’s a beautiful day, warm enough with Spring kissed air and a blue sky that lays above them all like a cerulean ceiling - completely cloudless and never ending, and there’s just something about today that is causing Louis to feel…. _ content _ . He’s content despite the dull cavity that pokes at him from the back of his head. 

He can’t focus on that though - he can’t give the incessantly negative thoughts his time of day because if he does, well then, he’s just going to rip the small semblance of peace he has created inside of himself to deathly shreds. So he tries to shove them away for now, and instead focuses on the wispy pieces of crepe paper that are softly pelting him as guests and flower girls throw handfuls of the stuff from wicker baskets adorned with peony coloured ribbons. It rains down on him like the first light snowfall of winter, it sticks to his eyelashes and dusts the tip of his rounded nose yet he can’t help but smile when it waltzes atop his head and sticks to his upper lip, because the sight of the newlywed couple that are emerging from the chapels entrance can’t allow him to muster up one ounce of annoyance over it. 

A loud applause follows their every step, and Poppy looks every inch the beaming bride as she grins with red stained lips and damp cheeks that the white confetti now clings to. James looks as jolly and ebullient as ever - splendidly garbed up in a dark navy suit and blush pink tie and he clings to Poppy like she’s the last life line on a sinking ship. Louis can’t help but feel a soft twinge somewhere in his chest as he witnesses their joy of finally being married. The service had been lovely, full of uplifting prayers and shared vows between the bride and groom and those sort of soft lingering looks that had made Louis feel as if he shouldn’t have been sitting on the chapel's pews while witnessing it all. Almost as if he had been intruding in on a private moment. 

“Damn it, I think I’ve ruined my makeup” Louis hears a sniffle from beside him and he looks to the side, a smile casting itself over his face as he takes in the very emotional looking maid of honour. She has traitorous tears pooling in her wood flint eyes, the smokey black makeup that has been carefully applied underneath them threatening to turn into a watery smudge down her cheeks if she isn’t careful. Despite her very genuinely upset expression, she still looks utterly beautiful - like one of those cherry blossom branches that now sway above their heads with her blush pink dress that flows to her knees and the twisted gold hair band that sits atop her dark locks. 

“Here, take this” Louis offers her the black pocket swatch that had been sitting in his suit jacket for no other purpose besides decoration, and she takes it gratefully with a smile “you know, for someone who had been grumbling about this wedding thing you’re certainly letting the whole romance of it get to you” 

From beside him, a rather shadowy and tall figure sniggers a gruff sound from behind his clamped lips. Louis looks at Harry then with a half grin on his face and with eyes that soften with deeply etched lines as soon as they fall on him, because Louis just can’t help it whenever he sees him. He’s just dazzled by how Harry looks under the warm glow of the Spring sun - so ethereal and haunting with his dark clothes and artfully lazy curls and celestial like lips that look like those carefully sculpted ones on the busts of Roman gods. 

He had sat beside Louis during the service (of course he had, now that the invisible tether between them has gotten stronger it seems that one can not survive five minutes without the others presence) and while the other guests were focused on the vicars prayers and sentimental words, Louis had been trying to calm his barraging heart that was crashing against his chest at the mere touch of Harry’s hand in his or how his long fingers absently kept tracing Louis’ thigh. He had nearly sweated through his collar under the imposingly directed eyes of all those religious statues that dotted the perimeter of the chapel's interior and all the looming figures that are etched onto the stained glass windows. Somehow it had looked like they were silently judging Louis for the way his heart was picking up all because of Harry, or how he was trying to calculate how long it would take them if they disappeared before the bride arrived to steal kisses beneath the cherry blossom tree. 

They hadn’t left to foolishly tangle with one another under the delicate blossom tree, but had stayed rooted to the wooden bench like a pair of flirtatious teenagers that were just aching to touch the other. Even now as Harry stands closer to him, he can’t help but put a hand onto Louis’ waist, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by Gemma who is now dabbing the corners of her eyes carefully. 

“I’m not crying because of that!” she scoffs incredulously as she tears her eyes away from Harry’s hand that is holding Louis close “I’m just so happy that it’s nearly over. That’s all” 

“Yeah, of course that’s why. God forbid if anyone found out you actually have a heart, or you know, human emotion” Harry scoffs playfully, a stupid grin plastering over his handsome face. Louis just nudges him softly in the side and looks at him while rolling his eyes of delicate blue. 

“I got a bit emotional too, Gemma. People always cry at weddings” Louis tells her with a warm smile, and her espresso shot eyes that are now lined with watery black look at him with a soft twinkle lighting behind them. 

“Alright, I cried, okay? As much as I complain about her she’s as close to a sister as I’ll ever have, and before you say anything, Harold” Gemma looks at Harry sharply “you’re amazing and all that, but it’s not the same as actually having a sister, you know? And now she’s married and we’ve been talking about this since we were girls, and I got a bit emotional, alright? Now please let’s all move on and forget this ever happened” 

“Right, moving on, then” Harry waves a hand in the air, signalling that Gemma’s tears have been forgotten about, the very notion of her crying now scattered within the Spring breeze like the stray leaves that float around their ankles “Now, I’ve got to find Mum, she wants help taking photos near the archway because she can’t work her phone” 

Louis follows Harry’s eye line then to where James and Poppy are now standing beneath a stone arch near the entryway to the chapel, their faces now mottled from smiling so much and Poppy lets out a laugh like the chiming of bells when a particularly strong gust of warm air nearly knocks her veil from her head. Anne stands within the throng of other guests that now crowd the space near the beaming couple, as lovely as ever in deep red and pearls, and she now catches her son's eye and waves him over frantically with a hand that is clutching her phone. Louis just smiles at the way Harry groans under his breath, muttering like a spoiled child about how he’ll be taking pictures for  _ ages _ , but before he stomps away with irritation he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ lips - one that leaves him weak in the knees and with a thumping heartbeat. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I take an acceptable photo for Mums instagram” Harry rolls his eyes as he leans away, but he puts his hands on Louis’ face and stays as close as he can - their noses nearly touching “I’ll be back soon, don’t go too far from me” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it” Louis breathes out, very aware that a dark pair of eyes are studying them but as Harry closes the space between them once again Louis can’t seem to care about Gemma’s curious gaze. All he can think of is how Harry is inches from his lips and how he smells of vanilla and a hint of something dark - like the night sky, or the dark trail of a deep wood - and how his green eyes are searching Louis’ like he’s some hidden treasure or how the material of his suit jacket feels between Louis’ fingers. The kiss is short and soft, all lips and strong hands that cup Louis’ face and before Louis even has time to exhale a breath and give his scorching lungs a break from their torment, Harry has once again pulled away. He’s smiling broadly though, like he’s looking at the sun and Louis can’t help himself from reaching up and poking at his dimple with the tip of a finger, and that just makes him smile even more. 

“Go on, before I make you stay” Louis all but whispers to him, and he swears that Harry’s face is going to split into two if his smile keeps getting wider. But he just looks fondly at Louis once more while scrunching his nose adorably and then he’s gone, in a flurry of black silk and long curls - and then it’s just a very curious looking bridesmaid with a raised eyebrow left, and Louis of course who now stands there rather idly, a newfound sense of awkwardness prickling over his skin. 

“So, I guess you two made up, huh?” she smirks, her pink tinged lips twisting into a smirk that is just so  _ Gemma  _ it makes Louis roll his eyes. 

Sometimes, he feels connected to her on some deep personal level that he can’t explain - like they’ve been friends since forever or have known each other in a past lifetime. She’s just always been so welcoming to him, and teases him with a familiarity that he’s only ever had with his own sister. He feels that now - that familial comfort - as she sways towards him and links her arm through his, steering them away from the guests and along the dusty gravel path that surrounds the chapel. It winds around the back of the stone church, the edges of the golden pathway dotted with obviously tended patches of flowers, and the emerald green grass is punctured by the thick roots of the oak trees that encase the cemetery. They walk for a short time in silence, all the while Louis’ head is echoing Gemma’s previous question, and then just as they come around to the shade of the massive blossom tree, he answers it. 

“Yeah, we made up” Louis just shrugs, placing his free hand at the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly. Gemma throws him a pointed look, one that is filled with fire lit eyes and a twisted pout on her full lips. 

“That’s all I’m going to get? Come on, Louis! I’m not daft, you know! I saw the way you were with him this morning. Don’t think I didn’t see you two holding hands during the service, or how you kept looking at each other like two love sick twelve year olds” Gemma nudges him playfully, a wry smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, but Louis can’t seem to muster the same sort of playfulness inside of him. He’s too busy getting embarrassed and blushing the same colour as the flowers they now settle under, the blossoms swaying above their heads like dancing pixies that listen intently to their conversation. He’s content with that fact however - if it’s only Gemma and petals that have to witness his infatuation with Harry Styles then he can live with that. 

“We’re not like twelve year olds!” Louis defends with a bristle of his shoulders and a sniff that is full of indignation, but in the back of his head he knows exactly what he and Harry must look like to everyone else. Louis can see the way Harry gazes at him - so intensely romantic and deeply affectionate, and Louis is certain he must do it back. 

“And what was that back there? I haven’t once seen you guys kiss when you were pretending, so it must have been real then?” she questions with one eyebrow quirked up and a very investigative glimmer dancing in the darkness of her eyes. 

Louis just sighs then, a heavy sort of sigh that is tinged with his bashfulness and a very real sense of defeat. There’s no point in lying to Gemma - she’ll be a high ranking human rights lawyer one day and she’s good at pulling information out of him without trying - and besides, she’s the person he had confided in when this situation had very nearly blown up in his face. She knows who he really is, can see the myriad of strength and weakness, of reality and repressed desires mix within the blue of his eyes, and Louis knows this all too well when she stands there looking at him like  _ that  _ \- like he’s some finely printed newspaper that she needs to squint to read, like he’s some sort of enigma that needs to be decoded. But she’s already unravelled the mystery of Louis Tomlinson (well some of it at least) so he walks a few steps away from her and plonks himself down on the bench that rests beneath the tree. She joins him then, her pink dress floating over her thighs and extending all the way towards Louis, the flowy ends of it resting themselves over the material of his trouser clad knees. 

He picks up the light material of her dress between his fingers, absently playing with it while he stares out into the backyard of the church, the rounded curves of the old moss covered headstones sticking up against the backdrop of the azure sky like pillars of a once forgotten temple. 

“Yeah, it’s real” Louis sighs wistfully, looking back into her eyes that look like the endless density of space, and in them the stars seem to flicker to life because they sparkle with the ghost of the tears she had tried to hold in earlier. She beams then, so genuinely and so like her brother, and an echo of a dimple even craters itself under her pale skin. 

Saying those words have elicited such a positive reaction from her, but inside Louis can feel the panic of how real this really is for  _ him _ , and how much the covered up entirety of love is aching to burst through him. He can feel it - that absolute and irrevocable feeling of being in love swim around in the depths of him, and can feel it float there beneath the sunny surface and when it comes up it will either drown him or he can choose to be carried away willingly with its waves. But he’s just so damn scared of feeling it entirely because he’s never been in love before, not ever, and he knows it’s going to be something so painfully beautiful that he can barely stand the thought of it. It’s like an ache he can’t get rid of. 

He’s just so terrified of giving his heart away and having it return to him in pieces - or worse again, he’s afraid that he’ll destroy Harry’s heart before he even has time to fully love it. Perhaps that’s the real reason why he’s so afraid of giving in to this tremendous romanticism that is slowly taking over every single one of his thoughts. 

“Louis, that’s amazing! So the two of you finally admitted your feelings, then?” she asks with a smile, leaning close into his side while giving him a soft nudge in the ribs. He looks back at her then, to see her gazing at him with those lovely dark eyes and despite the worry he can feel begin to snake its way into his mind, he smiles at her as he nods his head. 

“Yeah, we did. I wasn’t expecting to tell him, to be honest, but last night I just had this moment where I knew I needed to say it, you know? Even if it was just once” Louis reminisces, a wistful breath escaping past the confines of his pink lips “I was so scared, Gemma, but he feels the same way about me, and somehow being with him just makes sense, you know?” 

“It makes sense to everyone else too” Gemma smiles warmly, her dark hair tumbling past a pale shoulder as she leans her head to the side “you and Harry, you just….fit, you know? I don’t know how to explain it really, but seeing the two of you together reminds me of what a real couple should be like. How people in love should look at one another. I want that for me, and you and Harry, and those two idiots who just got married remind me that it’s real. It’s not just make believe” 

Louis just sits there, a little dumb struck as Gemma’s words wash over him. They place themselves heavily on his shoulders and fill the splits and cracks within his heart as they waver inside of his ears and settle inside his body. He can  _ feel  _ the truth in them, hear it rumbling its way out of every syllable that she speaks, yet it still shocks him that she so readily accepts that he and Harry are in love. Yes, he knows that Gemma now knows the truth of the situation, but even now as she understands that, she can peer at him and Harry and still see love. Louis feels his throat constrict a little, and he coughs ever so awkwardly - an action that has Gemma’s thick brows furrowing. 

“You haven’t told him that part yet, have you?” Gemma asks him softly, her voice as gentle as the swaying Japanese petals above their heads. 

“What part?” Louis questions her with a crumpled brow, but he knows what answer she’s going to give before she speaks. She smiles at him, one that stretches the skin beside her glossy lips and turns the corners of her eyes into a collection of little lines that only add to her pretty charm. 

“The part where you’re in love with him” 

The silence that follows her words is as dense as the pocket of Spring heat that is trying to pollute the breeze, and Louis finds that he can’t even breathe for a second, because somehow hearing it out loud like that is almost like someone has taken their hands around his shoulders and shook him. He feels rattled, both in a way that makes his heart soar and crash at the same time. He feels elated that someone else can see how he loves Harry so easily, but that ever there presence that lurks in the murky parts of his mind is reeling over the fact that he’s been so transparent. Because somewhere, deep down, there’s a part of him that doesn’t want him to love Harry, that doesn’t think it’s quite right that Louis should love another boy. 

He’s known all along that shifting that intense hatred for himself will be hard, and even now he can feel his words get stuck in his throat and clog his airways. But he swallows harshly and gulps up the Spring air, letting it clear his lungs and his very polluted mind. 

“Is it that obvious, then?” Louis meekly asks, his eyes hooded and childlike as he peers up at Harry’s sister who seems to be so undeniably delighted with this whole situation, completely missing how Louis is having an internal existential identity crisis. Sexuality crisis, more like. 

“I can see it in the way you look at him, and maybe I’m jumping to conclusions here, but I don’t really think I am. You love him, don’t you?” she softly ponders, voice so gentle that it almost gets lost along with the sounds of the twisted branches that are creaking above their heads. Almost. Louis hears her as loudly as if she’d just shouted into his ear.  _ You love him, don’t you?  _

“Yes'' Louis' mouth opens and the word slips out so easily that it frightens him, and he almost turns to stone right there on the small bench beneath him. His answer rushes from him like how the Spring wind is swirling invisibly around them and causing the pink blossoms above their heads to sway - so sure and quick, yet so beautifully purposeful and delicate with absolutely no hesitation. He sits there, expecting the great colossal sky to crack right down the middle and turn fiery red, but nothing happens and the blue vastness still kisses the world lightly and the leaves still dance in time to the aubade the breeze is whistling to the sun, and he feels his heart constrict in his chest like someones just stuck their fist through his skin and  _ squeezed _ . 

He regains himself a little, closes his mouth shut because it’s been hanging open like an unhinged door, and he dares to look back at Gemma, a newfound determination tickling the skin beneath his jaw. “Yes, I love him. I’m so in love with him, Gemma, that it frightens me. I mean, it’s been less than a week, how can I love him this much so quickly?” 

“You’ve known him a lot longer than a week, Louis. You’ve probably been in love with him for a long time, and you’re only realising it now” Gemma offers, ever so diplomatically and sensibly, and Louis knows she’s right. He’s been infatuated with Harry for the past year in school, and has always harboured coveted emotions for him. He’s tucked them away inside of himself in a muted place that he has always chosen not to visit, and now this past week Harry has been unlocking every single layer of darkness inside of Louis so that the light can get in, and now...well, Louis is finally admitting that he’s in love, but the fear and darkness have not ebbed away as much as he’d like. 

“I’ve never felt like this before. About anyone” Louis almost whispers, a nervous lilt to his voice like he’s confessing a horrifying secret within the murky shadows of a crime scene. Gemma doesn’t seem fazed at all by the way Louis’ voice is shaking or how his shoulders have hunched in on himself, because she beams so widely that Louis is sure he can hear the birds that float against the cloudless backdrop of the azure sky sing with delight at such happiness. She grips the lapels of his blazer between her slim fingers, the sharp tips of her nude painted nails marking little indents into his skin. 

“Well...what the hell are you sitting here with me for? Go tell him, Louis!” she shakes him ever so gently, still grinning with her excitement for him “Oh, you have no idea how happy this makes me!” 

“I can’t tell him...not yet. I’m fucking terrified, Gems! What if he doesn’t love me back? Or...what if he thinks it’s too soon and I scare him off?” Louis stammers, his heart beating intensely in his chest, because he can’t just run off and tell Harry Styles that he’s in love with him. That’s utterly insane. They’d only just gotten together  _ last night _ , only  _ just  _ admitted their feelings to one another and...he can’t just swan over to where Harry is now very glumly snapping pictures of Anne who is twisting and turning into various poses beside her niece, and confess everything. What would he even say?  _ Hey, Harry, nice photo you took there. Oh, by the way I love you? _ Yeah, as if that would work. 

He’s only just confessed all of his detrimental feelings out loud for the first time not moments ago, after very forcefully closeting himself for years. All of that purposeful repression is not just something that shifts away because you finally gave in to yourself during a night of passionate weakness. That self deprecating and self slaughtering mindset doesn’t just vanish overnight. It’s second nature to Louis to push and push and  _ push down  _ until his true nature and all of his very real desires are nothing but specks of dust that can sit collecting within the very back of his mind. He’s going to doubt himself and scoff at himself and he’s going to let his inner demons push him around for a while longer - he can’t just get rid of it so easy, alright? But he’s going to try, and rushing into things and saying something that could potentially ruin any semblance of bravery he has mustered inside of himself is not a good idea. 

Because what if Harry doesn’t feel the same way? Fair enough, Louis knows that Harry likes him. He knows Harry’s apparently crazy about him, and he can see that romanticism alight in his green eyes whenever he even looks Louis’ way, but... _ love _ ? Love is so different to anything else, so different to just being crazy about someone. Love is choking and internally damaging, and it’s bloody fucking scary. Louis’ scared out of his wits, because just last week he’d been pretty sure he would go his whole life without ever kissing another boy, and now he’s getting snippets in his head of waking up beside Harry every day for the foreseeable future. He can see visions of Harry standing in his kitchen flat back home, just in his boxers while his strong shoulders hunch over as he makes Louis a cup of tea. Or playing the guitar at the end of Louis’ bed, his brows scrunched together while a pen sticks behind his ear as he tries to come up with some opening piece for the theatre's next production. Louis doesn’t even want to admit to himself how he’s been imagining Harry embracing Lottie saying something like  _ “I’m so happy to finally meet you!” _ as Louis stands to the side with a stupid smile on his face, absolutely beaming at the thought that his sister is meeting his boyfriend. 

He nearly bawks aloud.  _ Boyfriend _ ? Is Harry his boyfriend? They’d admitted their feelings last night, and Louis had made love to him, but they haven’t discussed labels or anything. Louis feels sick somewhere in his stomach at the next thought that rushes through his head. Does Louis even  _ want  _ a boyfriend? Is he ready to have a boy hold his hand down the street, kiss him on the cheek as they wait in line for coffees at the uni cafe? After years of hating himself, is he ready for the stares they’ll get? The judgemental whispers? 

“I’m almost positive he feels the same way” Gemma’s voice swims back to Louis’ ears, and he shakes his head a little as if that will rid him of all the turmoil he feels inside, and when he looks at her she has that coffee warmth swirling in her eyes “but I get it if you’re scared, it’s understandable. I won’t say a word to anyone about this, of course. Just know that I’ve grown up with that boy, I know how many times he’s read Pride and Prejudice or cried at The Notebook. He believes in love, and he’s a true romantic. I know he won’t think it’s too soon because he probably already loves you too. Think about it, yeah?” 

“Yeah, I will. You know, you’ve been a great friend to me while I’ve been here, Gemma. Thank you” Louis says, genuinely and with a smile because it’s entirely true. Gemma has been nothing short of amazing while he’s been in the company of Harry and all his family. She could have ruined whatever game Louis and Harry were playing by outing their conspiratorial revenge plan when she found out about it, but she didn’t. Instead she’s helped Louis open up (even if it’s just been a little) and Louis doesn’t know how to thank her for that. 

“We’re staying friends, by the way, Louis Tomlinson” Gemma announces rather determinedly, like she’s picked apart Louis’ words and heard a farewell in there somewhere “you’re going to be sick of me and my incessant begging to go clubbing, and shopping. I must take you to London sometime, and Harry of course and we can all go to -” 

“Talking about me again, Gemma?” a deep voice cuts through her excited tirade then, and both Gemma and Louis turn their heads to look at the person it belongs to. 

Harry is now strolling on the grass as he heads towards where they sit, the cherry blossom branches bowing with every step that he takes and Louis can’t help but suck in a breath as he takes in the sight of how his tall frame is all decked out in black, or how he can spy the butterfly tattoo on his tanned chest because of the way his shirt is unbuttoned or how his curls are bouncing around his sculpted face. Even his parted lips are the same shade as the roses that are happily blooming out of a bush near the edge of the chapel's stone wall. The sun seems to glow a little brighter, kiss their skin a little harsher at the sight of him, and Louis swears he can hear a soft cry come from the sky where he’s sure Aphrodite herself is weeping at the sight of him. 

“Ah if it isn’t our  _ petit photographe _ ! Finished with the pictures then?” Gemma asks with a half smirk on her lips, but Harry just rolls his eyes at her playfully. 

“Well, I’m done snapping them for Mum’s instagram that only has thirty followers, if that’s what you mean. But you my lovely sister are not quite finished. Poppy wants a picture taken with the bridal party from the, you know, actual wedding photographer. She wants it done before we head back to the house, so she needs you, and I quote,  _ immediately _ ” Harry smirks down at his sister, and Louis can’t help but smile a little behind his hand as Gemma huffs rudely and stands up, her dress making a pleasant rustling noise as she does. 

“I’m so over all of this wedding shite!” she curses as she brings her hands down to dust over her dress and she adjusts the woven gold band in her hair with a vexatious roll of her espresso eyes “I hate getting my picture taken any other day, and today is no different!” 

“Oh, you look stunning, Gems! You’ll be fine” Harry waves her off with a hand and an incredulous twist of his plump lips. 

She smooths down the blush pink fabric of her dress one more time and says “Well one of us had to get the good looks” and then she winks at them before turning around. But then some other thought must strike her because she suddenly stalls in her ballerina pumps and turns back around, some sort of romantic glint in her muddy brown eyes. 

“You know boys, my offer still stands about Dorset. I’m not going there next week, and I have the keys ready to hand over if you want to head down and spend some…. _ alone _ time. Might be good for you, you know?” the very knowing smirk that she sends Louis’ way is enough to make him freeze on the bench, and his heart thumps against his chest like it’s afraid Harry is going to just suddenly know why Gemma is smiling like that at Louis. As if he can guess by just a look that Louis is in love with him and Gemma is trying to force some alone time on them in the hopes that Louis will feel confident enough to confess. He knows it’s a preposterous thought, but one he still conceives anyway. 

“Cool, thanks, Gems” Harry answers with a nod and a smile, and then once she’s finally turned away in a sashay of pink chiffon and dark pin curls, Louis is able to let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding in. Harry plonks himself down on the bench beside Louis, his fingers automatically going to Louis’ own to trace the bends and grooves near his knuckles. He sighs contently and lets the sound rush out of him to dance within the ether of pink petals and dull golden rays that splice through the blue sky. They sit there in silence for a minute, all the while Harry draws patterns on the back of Louis’ hand and all Louis can think of is...Fuck, I’m so in love with him. The words waltz on his bottom lip and the tip of his tongue, and they sit there in the conscience of his mind like an anchor that’s slowly slipping to the bottom of the ocean and he starts getting panicked because he doesn’t want the feeling to slip away and lie there in the sand, forgotten and solitary, but at the same time he’s too afraid to even say it out loud. 

But, oh how wonderful it would be to confess to him here now, beneath an ornamental blossom tree on a day like today. But… Louis’ a fucking coward, and he always has been. 

“Hey, you okay?” Harry asks him, and suddenly Louis’ anchor just stalls its floating within his mind - caught in a ghostly dance with the waves that are trying to drown it - but it doesn’t sink, just stays there until Louis can once again think of the terrifying thoughts of being in love. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, babe” Louis sighs wistfully as Harry’s fingers leave his hands to come up and glide over the skin of his cheeks, and he can’t help but feel his heart twinge a little at how easily the pet name slides out of his mouth. He can’t believe he’s ever held himself back from lashing terms of endearment onto Harry before - even before all this fake dating stuff. 

“You look a little flushed, Lou” Harry’s mouth downturns in concern, his fingers now coming to feel over Louis’ forehead like he’s checking to see if Louis has a fever. Which he doesn’t, of course. His face has just turned into a flushed mess because his heart has literally become a muscle of indecision and his blood has rushed to his head. 

“Honestly, I think it’s just the heat today and being in this suit” Louis lies expertly with a smile, cradling Harry’s hand that is wrapped around his face and letting his fingers dance across the soft skin at Harry’s wrist. Harry shifts himself even closer to Louis, green eyes locked on blue, until his thigh is touching off of Louis’ and his nose is nearly brushing against Louis’ cheekbone. Louis sighs when Harry leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, so gentle and adoring that it nearly causes the sun to implode within the blue curtain it hides behind. 

“Hmm, I could help with that” Harry mutters against Louis’ skin, and he sighs in both relief and contentment. He’s relieved that Harry has chosen to believe him and has not decided to ponder on why Louis probably looks as conflicted as he feels, and he’s content because Harry’s lips have now started to trail down the skin of his jaw to place open mouthed kisses to the sweet smelling junction of his neck. His hands slip uselessly to the lapels of Harry’s black blazer, and suddenly any of those incessantly barraging thoughts that he had been storing in his head waft from his mind like a cloud of smoke when Harry starts loosening his tie. 

“What are you doing, love?” Louis starts to giggle a little when Harry bites a fleshy piece of skin above the collar of his shirt. 

“Told you I could help, so I think getting you out of this suit is the best option, hm? What do you think, baby?” Harry mutters against his skin, and then he pulls away with his green eyes twinkling into Louis’ and a very playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“What do I  _ think _ ? I think you’re crazy, Harry” Louis laughs as he wraps his arms around his neck, now only able to focus on the way Harry is smiling at him or how his soft curls feel beneath his fingers as he starts playing with them. The whole confliction of being in love seems to take a backseat when he’s faced with the object of his romanticism, and the battle of it quietens down inside of him to a soft lull that feels an awful lot like contentment - as if his heart is trying to trick him into feeling safe with the notion of being in love, and not terrified that it won’t be reciprocated. 

“Oh, come on, don’t think I didn’t notice all those looks you were giving me back there inside the church. Took all the willpower I had not to kiss you then and there. You know you drive me crazy” Harry tells him with a glimmering smile, and Louis can’t help but smile back like a fucking crazy person - all teeth and eye crinkles and he even giggles a little because he’s just absolutely helpless when it comes to Harry. 

“I do? Really didn’t know that, love” he laughs then, light and airy as Harry pokes a long finger into his side and then he’s back to sighing wistfully as Harry pulls him closer, those emerald eyes never breaking their hold on Louis’ “you drive me insane too, you know. You and your stupid dimples make me crazy” 

“Never wanted anyone as much as you” Harry mutters as he grips Louis’ face like he’s some highly priced artefact and hovers his lips over his, brushing them back and forth ever so gently. There’s an ache that roars up inside of Louis then, and he can’t help but grip onto Harry tighter, like he’s afraid he’ll be picked up in the Spring breeze like a solitary petal if he doesn’t cling on. 

“Want you too. Always” Louis breathes out, and it’s not  _ I love you _ , it’s not even close, but the haunting echo of it resounds within his words and he hopes that Harry can pick up on it. He stares at him then, intensely and hard like he’s trying to peer into Louis’ soul and rescue it, and then he’s kissing him and Louis drifts away somewhere that’s warm and familiar. Somewhere that feels an awful lot like  _ home  _ as the emotion surges within the ocean of his heart. 

“How long do you think they’ll be taking pictures for?” Louis asks as he pulls away from Harry’s very attentive and soft lips, but not before chasing them back and forth with rushed pecks between his words. 

“Probably about fifteen minutes, why?” Harry says, looking behind his shoulder to the gaggle of guests that are swarmed around the side of the church, all in different groups and posing for different phones and cameras, and all waiting to be pictured with the newlyweds who are now standing before a cluster of small apple trees with the wedding photographer. Louis feels a flash of something carnally irritating shoot up his spine when he spies Theo in the crowd, looking positively bored as Chelsea links his arm, but it’s gone as soon as he looks back at Harry. 

“Well, I ask because I’m pretty sure there’s a bathroom down the back of the church. I saw it on the way in” Louis says as he stands up, a coy smirk on his face as he extends his hand to a very flabbergasted Harry. He doesn’t know what to make of the feeling that has just come over him, but suddenly he  _ needs  _ to feel Harry’s hands on him and he needs to lavish Harry’s neck with kisses and to just pour his love for him into his actions - even if it is in the small cramped bathroom stall of a church. There has to be some sort of irony in there, Louis thinks “Now come on lover boy, time’s ticking and we’ve only got fifteen minutes” 

“Fifteen minutes is a luxury, baby. I can get you off in two” Harry says as he takes Louis’ hand in his larger one and starts jogging to the back of the chapel, all the while Louis laughs hysterically by his side and the both of them can’t help but pinch and tickle the others waist as they fumble inside the bathroom stall of the now empty church. Louis just focuses on the way Harry kisses him so romantically as he pushes him against the cool white tiles of the tiny bathroom and how deftly his fingers are working on the zipper of his trousers. He doesn’t want to think of the crowding thoughts in his head that are trying to tell him how he should feel or who he should be - he doesn’t think of them at all - just focuses on how Harry’s soft skin feels beneath his black shirt as he runs his hands under it. 

He tries not to think, he really does. But his mind can’t be wiped completely blank, no matter how much he might want that. So as Harry kisses him softly and sinks to his knees on the cold floor, his mind can’t help but chant over and over again -  _ I love you, I love you, I love you.  _

* * *

The wedding party had retired to the large Styles estate after the very extensive photo shoot at the chapel had concluded (it had taken a lot longer than Harry’s presumed fifteen minutes, and after they had both stumbled from the bathroom with goofy grins and messed up hair, the both of them had been pulled into family photographs that seemed never ending). Now, that very chaotic part of the wedding is over and the sun has set in the sky and the stars are beginning to twinkle ever so elegantly within the expanse of dark navy. They’d had a two hour long dinner under the canopy of the snow white tent that has been put atop the manicured green lawn, and now every single plate and piece of shiny cutlery has been put away and all that remains on the tables are huge arrangements of white and pink flowers. It’s all very fancy and expensively designed with twinkling lights, round ivory tables with blush pink chairs of soft velvet and sweet smelling candles that rest on little podiums around the tent. A jazz band had even played in the corner throughout dinner but they’ve packed up since then, the lull of their music imprinting into the quiet night with a note of bittersweet finality. Louis can spy a live band start to assemble their instruments on top of the little stage by the corner of the room, and much to Harry’s dismay a black grand piano has been wheeled into the middle of the makeshift dance floor. 

“Is it too late to just, like, run the fuck away?” Harry hisses into Louis’ ear from where he sits beside him, and when Louis looks at him he can’t help but smile at the worried look in Harry’s eyes as he gazes at the piano. 

“Babe, how many times have you played at the theatre? There could be like, two hundred people there some nights and you always do amazingly. Now is no different” Louis tells him, laughing just a little as Harry pouts. Thankfully his plight can’t be overheard by anyone else because they’re all too busy with their own conversations to listen in. Anne sits beside Charles and a few of Harry’s second cousins who had all been delighted to meet Louis at the church earlier, and Edward who doesn’t look at all uncomfortable being seated with his ex wife and her current husband. He actually looks quite animated as he natters on to a rather tired looking Charles about politics. 

“That’s not the same thing, Lou. This is my family, who most of which haven’t heard me play since I was a kid, alright? What if I mess the notes up, and sound shit?” Harry frets, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth, and Louis can’t help but let his eyes trail down towards the cherry red mounds that had been all over the intimate parts of him earlier. He shifts in his chair then and moves closer to Harry, his hands gripping his cheeks and his eyes looking fiercely into the green. 

“You won’t sound shit, Harry. That would actually be impossible since you’re like Glenn Gould reincarnated. You’re amazing, and you know it. You’ll be fine, alright?” he reassures him, delicately running the pads of his fingers across Harry’s cheekbones which seems to alleviate some of the pent up tension in his body. Just then a soft clink of something off glass rings throughout the tent and every single pair of eyes shift towards the front where the bridal party table is situated. Gemma is now raising from her chair ever so elegantly, a smile plastering on her face as she stands before the crowd and her brown eyes shimmering with wine addled happiness. 

“I’ve been informed we have a very special performance to look forward to” Gemma announces, her eyes quickly finding her brother in the crowd and most of the other wedding guests look his way too. Louis can feel all one hundred and fifty pairs of eyes bore into him and he drops his hands from Harry’s face rather incriminatingly as a blush spreads up his neck “I’d like to ask my darling brother Harry to now grace us with the beauty of his music, as he so kindly offered to do for our newlyweds!” 

“Oh Christ, I’m fucked” Harry mutters rather darkly from the side of his mouth as every single guest starts to clap rather elegantly while still looking his way. He attempts to get up from his chair then, but Louis grips his wrist lightly and tugs him forward a few inches. 

“Just….pretend I’m the only one you see. Just look at me, and you won’t get nervous” Louis offers with a smile, but Harry’s green eyes just get darker and his brow twitches ever so lightly like he’s confused over something rather intricate. 

“I always get nervous around you, so that won’t help much” Harry chuckles a little as he stands on his long legs, his large hands coming to smooth down the front of his suit but before he walks away he leans close to Louis’ ear “Oh and for the record baby, you’re always the only one I see” 

A soft kiss is placed on Louis’ cheek then, and just like the utterly romantic sap that he is, Louis can’t help but clasp a hand over the place where Harry’s lips were, a rather wistful smile on his face as he watches his tall frame saunter towards the piano. But before Harry’s fingers can even touch the piano keys, Gemma is once again speaking, now with a black microphone in her hands. Apparently Harry isn’t the only Styles sibling that seems nervous over their wedding performance - as maid of honour, and as the closest thing Poppy’s ever had to a sibling, Gemma has been requested to make a speech. Louis can see how her hand is shaking a little and how she nervously darts her dark eyes around the room. 

“Before Harry plays for us, I’ve been asked to give a speech. It’ll be a rather short one, I promise, I wasn’t too keen on the idea in the first place when Poppy asked me, so I haven’t really prepared a long one. Not that I had much time to prepare one since Poppy’s been making me run around all week after flower arrangements and last minute veil changes. Thanks for that, Pops, I now have permanent blisters on my feet” Poppy, who sits beside where Gemma is standing laughs along with the other guests, an elegant hand hiding the blush on her face and from beside her James playfully scolds his bride with a light nudge to the ribs before slinging an arm around her shoulders. 

The small burst of laughter dies down, and Louis watches as Gemma takes a deep breath, holding the microphone down as she fidgets with a small scrap of folded card that sits before her on the table. But as her dark eyes ponder over it for a moment, she must decide it deserves to be abandoned since she lets it lie there unopened. She brings the mic back up to her mouth, her eyes now falling on Harry who sits tentatively at the piano, and then to Louis who gives her what he hopes looks like an encouraging smile

“You know I had a few things written down for this, but nothing I’ve written really means much. It’s mostly just well wishes and quotes from Pinterest” she says into the mic, her words garnering another small burst of laughter from the crowd “but what I had really wanted to say is that, the most important thing about today is that we’re all here to celebrate two people who love each other. That’s what it comes down to in the end, right? All week I’ve been stressed trying to make everything perfect for my cousin, but in the end it doesn’t really matter if the flowers match the colour of the groom's tie, or if the wine goes with the dinner. All that matters is that you two love each other more than anything, and that you’ve made a promise to keep that love forever. I’ve had a friend tell me recently that they’re scared of how much they love their someone, and that love is frightening….” 

Louis can feel himself go absolutely rigid in his chair - like one of those fucking ice sculptures that sit uselessly in the corner of the tent - and it’s totally not helping how Gemma is looking right at him, and how Harry is now swivelling on the piano bench to gaze curiously at him or how he can feel Anne’s forest green stare bore right into the side of his head. 

“Love is scary, and maddening and it’s confusing sometimes. It’s full of many obstacles, right Poppy? Like how you came to my flat, crying because James was touring for his first book and wouldn’t be home for almost eight months and how you couldn’t go with him because you were finishing your degree?” Gemma adds, fondly looking at her cousin and her new husband who both nod their heads with the memory swimming in their eyes “you spent all that time apart, but you made it  _ here _ . Look at you two, married now and so, so happy. Yeah, love is unpredictable and scary, but if my friend was here I’d tell him to look at you and see how rewarding love is, how it pays off into something beautiful. I’d tell him not to be so afraid, and just go for it, because he could end up like you two geezers! Congratulations, lovebirds. To James and Poppy, everyone!” 

The crowd of guests chant after her, raising their glasses in a toast for the newlyweds and Louis notices as he holds up his wine glass that his hand is shaking quite a bit. He feels so exposed, like he’s just been turned transparent and that everyone can see inside of him and gape at the scratched carving on his heart that reads  _ Property of Harry Styles _ . He knows that’s ridiculous, that the wedding guests can’t possibly know what he and Gemma discussed earlier under the sanctity of the cherry blossom tree, and Harry himself surely won’t suspect a thing. Louis tries to relax back into the softness of his chair, but he can’t seem to relax his shoulders or loosen the grip he has on the wine glass stem. So he just sits there, like a slab of marble, and his eyes just focus on Harry and nothing else. 

“Thank you everyone, now Harry would like to play for us” Gemma announces softly into the mic, the definitive click of it resounding throughout the tent as she turns it off and then it’s all eyes on Harry who is now cracking out his fingers and straightening up his broad shoulders as he swivels atop the shiny piano bench. 

Within the sea of guests, like a lighthouse beacon guiding home a lost ship, Harry’s eyes of clover green find Louis’ and there they stay fixed as he begins to delicately tinkle out a flow of notes. His music has always been beautiful, has always been filled with that kind of poeticism that not every musician naturally has. It soars from within him and bursts out through his fingers and somehow it’s like his soul is making the softly stirring music and not the instrument itself. Louis just sits in awe of him, completely and utterly enamoured, and all the while Harry doesn’t look away from him. 

Louis has a maddening urge to dash over to the bridal table, snatch up the microphone and shout into it  _ “Hi, I’m Louis and I really love Harry”  _ but he stays stuck to his chair like some ancient tree that’s roots have sunk and twisted beneath the ground. He suddenly can’t breathe with how strong this emotion is, because  _ fuck _ , he’s never in his life felt like this about someone and now it’s filling up every sense he has and every beat of his heart echoes with the sound of Harry’s name, and he just feels absolutely sick. He feels like he could throw up his chicken and potatoes from dinner, but then suddenly it’s not his stomach that’s in pain but his chest, and it feels tight and he can’t get air into it, and oh fuck it, is love always this bloody painful? How long must he endure this stage before it disappears? But he already knows the answer to that and it’s never. 

But those inherently poisonous thoughts that haunt the depths of his mind choke him, and suddenly he can’t breathe for a different reason. He imagines what the weight of his confession will entail, because then everyone will know, right? Everyone at school will know he’s gay and how does he explain that to Christina, or his sister….Oh God, what about the next time he runs into his dad or the next time he randomly decides to call him? How does he explain that he now has a boyfriend? What if he runs into John with Harry by his side? What would his father think of him then? 

Harry’s music rises into a building barrage of powerfully stirring notes and the fading lilt of tinkling optimism, and as he passionately plays the last few keys he finally looks away from Louis and closes his eyes. Louis suddenly lets out a giant breath that is heavy and shaking, and his head feels like it’s going to explode. He knows how he feels about Harry - he can feel the aching love pierce his heart each time he breathes in or out - but he doesn’t know what to do with this feeling. He doesn’t know whether he should water it like a flower and let it bloom inside of him or if he should choke it down like everything else. Gemma’s words from her speech run around and around in his head, and it’s enough to make him dizzy as he stands. 

Harry’s standing up from the piano now too, graciously bowing as the crowd clap for him and from where they sit the newlywed couple look positively delighted that Harry has just played for them in their honour. Louis just walks to the back of the room to the drinks table, and pours himself yet another glass of white wine that he nearly consumes in two knocks of his head. He absolutely hates himself -  _ hates himself  _ \- for even considering pushing down the feelings he has for Harry. How could he be so cruel to himself? How could he be so horrid to the boy he loves? How could he even think of walking away from him? 

The same boy now makes his way towards Louis, a spring in his step and a very pleased smile plastered on his handsome face. He shakes a hand through his messy hair then and wipes some sweat off of his forehead as he gets closer, and all the while his smile never falters. Louis gulps down another mouthful of wine and plasters on a grin as Harry stops beside him, a large hand coming to grip onto Louis’ hip. 

“So how did I sound?” Harry asks as Louis turns around to pour another glass of wine, this time he pours one for Harry too that he hands him with a smile - a more genuine one this time. 

“Absolutely awful. I think you made all the flower girls cry with how bad it was, and I definitely saw the page boy cover his ears and hide under the table” Louis smirks as Harry takes the wine with a grateful sigh, his lips meeting the edge of the glass instantly. He leans against the table then and Louis can’t help but melt just a little as he tightens his hold around Louis’ waist to pull him tighter into his side. 

“And here I was thinking I could be the next Glenn Gould” Harry smirks around the lip of the glass, his eyes looking up into Louis’ like two emeralds surrounded by thick lashes. Louis almost gets lost in them and topples over with his own wine glass in his hand, but the strong grip Harry has on him doesn’t allow that to happen. 

“Whoever told you that, Harold?” Louis asks him, his voice now being swamped by the sound of the soft guitar that has started playing from the live band. Harry hums a little to himself, his deft fingers sliding away from Louis’ waist to come and play with the end of the black tie that hangs near his stomach. Harry’s own shirt is still unbuttoned to a sinful degree, and Louis can’t help but want to trace the wings of the butterfly with the tips of his fingers, but he refrains from that act however - they’re at a wedding, where there’s plenty of snobby rich people who’d love an excuse to gossip and innocent children who do not need to see such a thing. 

“Just this really sexy man actually, with this amazing smile and these wonderful eyes! You should see him, Lou” Harry teases, his head tilted back as he looks up at Louis who now slings an arm behind his neck. 

“Hmm, sounds like my type. If you find him again, make sure to send him my way, won’t you?” Louis teases with a cocked head and a smirk, but Harry just giggles a little and shakes his head of long curls. His hand grips the end of Louis’ tie and pulls him forward ever so slightly until their lips are hovering above one another's and their noses are touching. 

“No can do, baby. He’s all mine” Harry whispers just before putting his lips softly onto Louis’ and kissing him like he’ll crack if he pushes their lips any harder together. Louis nearly melts into him, he makes their chests touch and mould into the others as he leans closer to him, and their mouths just slot so perfectly against each other that Louis can’t help but think that he and Harry were made to be together. 

“You want my serious opinion?” Louis asks as he pulls away just as the lead singer of the wedding band croons into the microphone about hungering for his lover's touch, his voice deep and the accompanying instruments sounding just as romantic. 

“Always” Harry nods with a smile - damn that beautiful dimple that Louis wants to kiss so much. Fuck it, he can kiss it, so he leans forward and presses his lips to Harry’s cheek and kisses along to the corner of his mouth. He can feel Harry go pliant under his touch, and his shoulders sag so beautifully wistful and he sighs along with it too which makes Louis smile as he pulls away. 

“I thought your music was beautiful, and that you are too, and that you’re just amazing, really” and  _ I love you _ , he wants to add. But he just watches on as Harry’s face positively nearly breaks into pieces with how much he’s smiling “I think people would actually pay to see you play. That’s my honest opinion” 

“Now you’re just stroking my ego” Harry rolls his eyes, clearly not believing Louis’ truth. 

“Nah, babe, did that earlier” Louis wiggles his eyebrows which causes Harry to burst into a fit of dimpled giggles that turn the apples of his cheeks red, and Louis can’t help but fondly smile at him as he does. But their little snippet of stupidly childish giggles is interrupted by a croaky cough and a bony hand that comes to separate the two boys. 

“Harry Edward, I’ve been most miffed that you haven’t asked me to dance once since the band started playing” Diana Styles stands there in a crisp pant suit of blinding ivory, a string of polished pearls wrapped around her wrinkled neck and from beside him Harry actually groans aloud, much to the annoyance of the elderly woman whose face crumples in a flash of annoyance. 

“Granny, I hate dancing, please don’t make me!” Harry whines with a very pretty pout that Louis can’t help but laugh at. 

“Go on, love, dance for a bit. You don’t want your Granny to be most miffed with you” Louis snickers lowly into Harry’s ear, attempting a very poor posh accent that Harry elbows him over. 

“You will dance with your grandmother, Harry, and of course I’ll be coming back for you too, Louis. I need a dance with my grandson's boyfriend” Diana beams, her glossed up lips stretching at the sides and Harry positively gloats at that. He looks at Louis then with an almost childish smirk as he stands up from the table and hands over his wine glass. 

“Oh, Louis would love that!” Harry smiles as he gently takes his Granny’s very aged and ring covered hand “be back in a short while, babe” 

Louis just watches them walk away while glowering at the back of Harry’s head, because he will most certainly  _ not  _ be dancing with Diana if he can help it. He’ll probably end up stepping on her foot and getting smacked rapidly across the head for it, or catching the tip of his shoe in the bell bottom ends of her trouser suit and send her flying halfway across the dance floor in an untimely demise. But despite his panic, he can’t help but watch on fondly as Harry extends his arm out as they walk onto the floor, the bands soft music playing as they begin to waltz elegantly. He must remember to ask Harry for a dance later on, he so desperately wants to be held by him again. 

“Hello, dear friend” he hears from beside him and he can’t help but jump just a little where he stands out of pure surprise, since he’d been so concentrated on watching Harry’s dance moves and the newlywed couple join the throngs of dancers on the floor. He looks to his side after fumbling to keep his wine glass steady, and sees the maid of honour smiling from beside him. 

“Hey, Gems. Great speech earlier” Louis remarks carefully, and Gemma just turns her head to the side and peers at him with a twinkle in her dark eyes. 

“Inspired by you, of course. What you said earlier struck a nerve with me, you know? Poppy used to be the same when her and James first started dating. She was scared that she’d get hurt or that he’d never feel the same. Now look at them” Gemma throws a hand in their direction where they’re swaying back and forth to the music, their eyes locked onto one another's and their smiles so wide that it must hurt “I want you to be brave, and happy. I want that for my brother too. You could have all this someday, Louis” 

“What? A ridiculously expensive wedding with ice sculptures that melt after ten minutes?” Louis teases her with a nudge to the side, and she scoffs a little with an eye roll, nodding her head as if she agrees that the magnificently carved ice swans are indeed ridiculous. 

“No, I mean happily ever after” Gemma says then with a meaningful declaration in her words, and Louis’ chest suddenly feels tight. He’s just about to open his mouth to say that a happily ever after with Harry is what he wants, when a loud gasp sounds throughout the room along with the panicked cry of a woman. Louis whips his head around just as the band's music falters out midsong, and suddenly a surge of guests all rush to the front of the tent. 

“What the hell is going on?” Louis asks Gemma, trying to stand up on his tippy toes to see better. He imagines Harry lying on his back, knocked out cold by the harsh sting of an aristocratic slap for stepping on his Granny’s feet. 

“I swear if one of the grooms men has drank too much and gotten rowdy….” Gemma trails off in a mutter as she hooks a hand around Louis’ elbow and tugs him forward. The band has now stopped playing altogether and there seems to be some sort of eerie silence radiating around the tent, but suddenly the crowd that is packed around the front start to sound like a swarm of bees as they all talk at once. 

Louis hangs onto Gemma as he pushes his way through, and what he sees as he enters the epicentre of the scene causes him to stop dead for a second. It’s Charles, lying on his back in a crumpled position, his skin pale and his eyes closed with Anne and Harry kneeling beside him. Gemma gasps loudly then and lets Louis go as she elbows her way past the rest of the watching crowd, and she too falls to her knees beside her stepdad. Louis stands there dumbly for a few seconds more because he’s entirely unsure of what has just happened and what he should be doing, but eye contact with Harry is all it takes for him to move. He looks up at him, so childlike and so full of worry, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip and his green eyes filling with tears. 

“Alright, what happened?” Louis asks as he shoves his arms out of his jacket to abandon it beside him, and he too bends down to kneel beside Charles. He’s had all but four hours of first aid training (it had been made mandatory as captain’s duties when he’d been promoted within the university’s soccer team. He’d thought it pointless really, because didn’t they not have medics at soccer games anyway? So he hadn’t really paid much attention) but it kicks into him now as he leans forward and places an ear near Charles’ nose. Okay, he can feel air hitting his skin. Good sign. 

“We were just making our way over to the drinks table ….and he...he just collapsed” Anne stutters with tears in her eyes, and Harry instinctively puts a hand on her shoulder to give it a squeeze. 

“Alright, Gemma, find a phone. Ring the ambulance” Louis tells her as he looks to the side. She nods frantically as she gets up, rather helpfully dragged to her feet by a bystanding groomsman and they both rush off towards the large house that glows like a hunk of gold in the near distance. 

“He said he was feeling dizzy earlier….but I just thought he was tired...I didn’t think….” 

“Anne, he could have just gotten over heated and fainted, okay? He’ll be fine, don’t be worrying” Louis soothes the woman's worries with a soft tone and a gentle hand that caresses her arm. Her eyes are wide and unseeing, like she’s looking into a dark abyss that is reflecting all her worst fears, but she nods anyway and furiously rubs at her damp cheeks. 

“Oh here, Auntie Anne” Poppy comes into view then with a rather large glass of water as she kneels beside her, her white wedding dress pooling around her as she does. Anne leans into her side while Harry still rubs circles on her back. He makes eye contact with Louis then and those magnificent green eyes of his hold within them a million different questions, but Louis doesn’t know what they are so he focuses on loosening the tie around Charles’ neck while discreetly feeling at his pulse point. It’s weak, but steady, which means he’s most definitely just fainted due to blood pressure or low energy. 

After a few minutes of diligently hovering over Harry’s step dad like a watchdog, and after requesting that the lead singer of the band announce over the mic for everyone to step back, the flashing blue lights of an ambulance streaks over the white tent along with the piercing screech of its sirens. Louis stands up then on wobbly legs as the ambulance crew rush over towards Charles with medical kits and a stretcher. Louis very gently takes hold of Harry’s elbows and peels him away from the floor as the paramedics carefully place a still unconscious Charles onto a stretcher while asking Anne all sorts of questions. She doesn’t even look back (she surely doesn’t have time to) as she runs alongside the crew members who are now stuffing Charles into the back of the ambulance. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Louis asks softly, but he gets no response, all Harry is doing is looking off into the distance towards the yellow and green ambulance as one paramedic starts to close the back of the doors. Anne’s face looks out before they shut completely, so pale and panic stricken and with eyes that now seem so empty “Baby, hey, look at me. Are you okay?” 

“Fuck, Louis, did that just happen? What the fuck just happened?” Harry asks him, a hand coming to tug the roots of his hair as he finally looks at Louis. He sounds so panicked, so frightened at the fact he has no clue what is wrong with his step dad, but before Louis can even formulate an answer, Gemma comes rushing up beside them, her cheeks now tracked with black makeup and her gold hairband lying sideways across her head, all of her carefully formed curls now destroyed from running. 

“Berkshire Royal, that’s where they’re taking him” she huffs out rather breathlessly “we’ll meet them there and stay with Mum while Charles gets checked out” 

“You….you don’t think he’s sick again, do you?” Harry asks his sister with a tight strain in his voice. Louis instinctively moves closer to him and tries to soothe him with a hand that slips under his suit jacket to rub his back. Harry just pulls Louis closer by the cuff of his shirt sleeve, his fingers embedding in it like he never wants to let go and like the only thing tethering him to sanity is Louis. 

“ _ Don’t _ , Harry” Gemma warns with gritted teeth and eyes that now squeeze shut “I can’t even think….No, I  _ won’t  _ think about that. We need to be there for Mum though, and for Charles when he comes round. So, let’s go” 

“But we’ve all been drinking, how can we get up there?” Harry asks as he frantically pulls his keys from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his fingers uselessly. All three of them ponder solutions wordlessly for a minute, and Louis is just about to suggest that he go ring a taxi when the supposed future Prime Minister of the British government swans over beside them and snatches the keys from his son's hands. They all look at him dumbfounded for a moment, until he rolls his green eyes and throws a hand in the direction of the tent's exit. 

“I’ll drive. Now let’s go” Edward pushes a hand gently into his daughters back, signalling for her to start moving towards the gravelled carpark. They meander their way out of the now confused throngs of guests who still litter throughout the silent tent, unsure of what to do or if the party should continue. 

“You haven’t been drinking, right, sir?” Louis questions while running a little up the gardens hill, his hand grasping onto Harry’s. 

“You try drinking during campaigning season, see how that goes” Edward calls back over his shoulder as he flicks a button on Harry’s keys to unlock the doors. The shiny black S60 flashes its lights once to signal that it's open and they all pile into the car - Gemma in the front with her dad, and Harry and Louis in the back “But to answer your question, no, I’ve not been drinking tonight, son. You’re safe with me. Now come on, you lot, buckle up” 

The car turns on then with a muted purr, and Edward spins the wheels towards the direction of the road, and towards a situation Louis can’t guess the outcome of. But he doesn’t try to think of every horrid scenario that flickers through his head, he just wraps Harry up in his arms and kisses away the silently falling tears that run from his eyes. He’s been struggling all day with the weight of his feelings for Harry, but here now, comforting him when he’s like this, makes sense to him. 

“You’re alright, love” Louis whispers against the top of Harry’s head “I have you, you’re alright” and  _ I love you, I love you, I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hope everyone enjoyed? Let me know x


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021 everyone ! I head back to work tomorrow so I wanted to get a new update out before I go back to normality ! This chapter deals with a few touchy subjects like illness and hospitals and there are specific things in here that I've experienced with my Mum so please know I'm here to talk if any of you need it !   
> As always, enjoy !   
> Much love   
> Taylor xx

**_I am a series of small victories and large defeats;_ **

**_and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here_ **

**_Charles Bukowski_ **

The hospital is large and bold, and stands grandly against the dimming sky like a Corinthian masterpiece of brown sandstone, yet Louis can’t seem to care much about its architecture. Not when he’s frantically scrambling out of the car after Harry, his hand still clutched achingly tight in his larger one. He doesn’t even have time to look back at the car as Edward shouts out the window that he’s going to find a parking space, because Harry is dragging him up the steps of the north block building before he can even turn his head. 

He runs quickly behind him, his shiny dress shoes clicking off the stone steps while Gemma’s chiffon skirts swish hurriedly in a tangle of fabric around her knees. The front doors are automatic and Harry huffs out a short, impatient breath through his nose as they open back slowly, but Louis just squeezes his hand and tries to reassure him. Harry looks at him then, wide green eyes full of fear and his pink lips sucked in between his teeth.  _ It’s going to be okay _ , Louis tries to tell him silently. But he isn’t sure if it will be. He isn’t sure what to make of anything that this situation has come to. 

A receptionist tells them where to go after Gemma rushes her inquiry past her trembling lips, and her age lined blue eyes swarm in a sort of pitiful way as she takes them in. They must look ridiculously out of place, disjointed in their wedding clothes amongst this place that is all shiny, clinical surfaces and nursing scrubs. Gemma still has her dress on, her kitten heels clicking against the blue linoleum floor as she frantically hurries from the reception desk to find the ward Charles is in. Louis and Harry are both still in suits, decked out lavishly like two sore thumbs, and as they hurry through the brightly lit hallways full of patients holding stretchers and diligent carers, they get a few curious looks thrown their way. Their faces look gravely stark in comparison to their celebratory looking clothes - Louis can see that as they pass by a window, they’re worried reflections thrown back to him in the glass. 

“Mum!” Gemma cries then as she comes to a halt around the corner, and Louis nearly skids in his shoes at the abrupt stop of their jogging. Harry halts his running too, the action causing Louis to crash into his side. Anne stands down at the end of a hallway by a row of empty chairs and a buzzing vending machine that flickers brokenly, and she stops the worried chewing of her nails when she hears Gemma’s shout. 

She looks up immediately, her face crumpled in anguish and then she’s rushing forward, her arms outstretched to embrace her daughter. Louis can hear the way Harry’s breath gets shallow, like he’s trapped beneath the sea and trying not to breathe in the ice cold water that will surely drown him, or make his lungs implode. Gemma wraps her arms around her mother while Harry grips Louis’ hand so tight it feels like it might fall off, but Louis doesn’t complain, (how can he when Harry is so hurt, using him as his anchor?). He just touches his arm lightly with his free hand and urges him to move forward. 

“Mum, is Charles, alright? Are you alright? Oh Mum, I’m so sorry” Harry rushes out in one breath, his words shaky and sounding like a whisper that might be carried across a foggy glen in the midst of winter. Barely there and haunting. 

“Oh baby, I’m fine. Charles is hanging in there” Anne leaves Gemma then to hug her son, but Harry still doesn’t let Louis’ hand go, instead he holds it tighter, his arm stretched out behind him “he woke up in the ambulance. His blood pressure is extremely low, and he’s dehydrated. But they’ve brought him down for a scan and -” 

“A  _ scan _ ? Why would he need a scan if he fainted? Can’t they just give him fluids or something, like why does he need a scan?” Harry pulls back from his mother, that undeniable childish fear lighting up the emerald pools of his eyes, and Louis feels that his heart might break a little, because he can piece together exactly what’s happening here. Even if Harry is too scared to realise it himself. 

Anne just shuffles on her feet as she looks down at the ground, her bottom lip now being gnawed by her teeth. Gemma sharply inhales from beside her, a shaking hand placing itself on her mother’s arm. 

“Mum, what’s going on?” Gemma asks timidly, her voice on the verge of breaking like a porcelain teacup that’s just been carelessly thrown to the ground. 

“Harry...I’ll leave you for a moment. This is a family thing it’s nothing to do with me” Louis whispers, trying to untangle himself from the boy as Gemma and Anne share a rather sombre look, one where the inevitable words are bouncing between the silence of their lips. 

“No, don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me, Lou” Harry begs, his eyes wide and full of dread, and his other hand comes to take Louis’ solitary one, squeezing it like he wants to sink the desperation he holds for Louis’ companionship beneath his skin and all the way into his bones. Louis just nods then, with a feeble smile, and Harry sighs contently before looking back at his Mum. The same woman who now looks deathly pale, her eyes rimmed red with the acid of her tears and her pink lips now turned a ghostly beige from how much she’s biting the colour from them. 

Louis can feel it then, that long ago feeling of utter incomprehensible dread crawling up from the pit of his stomach, and there it sits like a block of ice. Louis knows, before Anne even speaks, what she’s going to say. He just  _ knows _ . 

“The cancer is back, and this time it’s more aggressive” Anne nearly whispers, her voice cracking at the end “they’ve brought him down to scan him and see just how rapid it’s grown and...” 

Any words she says after that are lost to Louis, and it seems like he’s just dived feet first off a pier into the icy ocean, the waves crashing over his ears, because any sound around him seems so muffled and far away. A memory - one he has tried to meticulously hide within the depths of his mind - comes roaring back to him like a harsh slap to the face, and he has to hold onto Harry even tighter to ground himself. 

He sees himself at sixteen, bouncing his knees frantically as he had sat on an uncomfortable chair in some stuffy office, right beside his sister and Gran while a middle aged doctor had tried to explain to them that his mother had five months left. He remembers how he had felt like he was drowning beneath fierce waves, multiple anchors tied to his feet that were preventing him from battling to the surface and how every single piece of hope he had held onto had just vanished. He had been so convinced for so long that his Mum would pull through - that she’d be there to see his seventeenth birthday and him playing in his schools soccer championship, or seeing Lottie go to her first dance or getting her drivers license. 

Every shred of his heart and soul had been ripped apart that day, and even now, standing here he can feel that it’s not fully healed at all. He remembers the pain of it all like it had happened yesterday, or if this situation right here now is an echo of his devastating past. He blinks slowly then, floating back to the edge of awareness when he feels Harry’s hand slip from his.

Louis looks at him then through watery eyes, and he can see how absolutely  _ broken  _ he is - how his handsome face is contorted with everything his trembling lips are trying to articulate. He looks between Anne and Gemma then, his eyes batting back and forth incessantly and then he closes them, squeezes them shut as he pinches his nose. 

“How long have you known?” is what he whispers out, his voice level and calm, just like the sea before a storm. Louis can see how Anne swallows harshly, her own eyes shutting momentarily before opening them again to look at her children. Gemma gasps a little, a hand over her mouth as realisation hits her like a freight train. 

“You’ve known about this?” Gemma asks with a trembling voice, and when all that comes after is a deathly silence she bristles a little and says more sternly “Mum, answer Harry’s question, please” 

“Yes, alright! We’ve known about it for almost a month now” Anne cries, big tears pooling from her eyes “Charles didn’t want you kids to worry, so we decided to keep it between us until we got the final results. You might hate me right now, or think it was wrong of us, but we didn’t know the full extent of it ourselves. With the wedding happening, we just didn’t want to say anything. Oh kids, I’m so sorry” 

“A month? So that time when Charles took sick and went into hospital...You found out then and never said anything?” Gemma questions disbelievingly, her brown eyes rimmed with makeup that her fingers make a trail of down her cheek as she brings a hand up to wipe at them furiously. 

“Yes, they told us then. We were scheduled for an appointment next week….I didn’t think he’d be this way or that this would happen…..” Anne rushes out, unable now to stop her tears. 

Louis just stands there trying to listen, trying to comfort Harry by putting a hand on his lower back but everything just seems too far away and muted into a canvas of grey bleakness. He’s disconnected from this moment here now because he’s being tugged by the hands of his past in a backwards direction, and everything he’s tried not to think of in the past four years is ushering towards him so staggering it’s almost making him breathless. He sways a little on his feet, but he just grips Harry’s waist tighter and tries to steady himself. He can’t help but notice the nurse who sits behind a desk at the end of the hall, her eyes fixated on her computer screen as she checks stuff in, trying desperately hard not to listen. Louis’ just about to suggest they head somewhere more private when Harry’s suddenly wiggling out of his grasp and turning away. 

“I have to get some air” Harry mutters out in a daze, his feet clumsy and lead heavy as he stumbles away from them. Louis doesn’t know if it’s from all the wine he had drank at the wedding or if it’s his heartache, but Harry grabs the wall a little as he wobbles, and then he’s rounding the corner with a determined stride. 

Louis just stands there, trying so desperately to kick and thrash beneath the waves that have swallowed him. He needs to get to the surface, needs to break through this watery flood of memory that is absolutely rendering him frozen, and he does with one deep breath and a furiously balled up fist that he rattles nervously against his thigh. 

He doesn’t know what to do, or say. He doesn’t know if he’s the one who should be rushing after Harry at this specific time. Shouldn’t it be his mother that does that? Shouldn’t she be the one who has to comfort him and explain to him that everything’s going to be okay even though it’s not? Louis turns to Anne then, his somewhat watery eyes looking at her, her silhouette red and blurry for a second before he focuses properly. She’s just a ghostly vision of utter confusion and anguish, and Louis knows that this isn’t her fault and that she probably doesn’t know what to say to her children right now. She’s hurting too, she’s trying to make sense of it all within the chaos of her mind and maybe she has nothing to offer to Harry right now. She turns her forest eyes towards him then, they’re etched crimson like a scorching trail of burnt destruction and leaden with soil brown circles that make her look older. But Louis can see the silent plea that she asks of him, the unspoken wish dancing in the clover pools of her eyes.  _ Go to him. Make sure he’s okay.  _

He just nods dumbly for a second, like he needs to stall a minute before his legs decide to work, and then he’s turning around. The last thing he sees is Gemma’s tear tracked face before he disappears around the corner. 

He rushes through the corridors with frantic steps, his eyes darting back and forth in search of Harry’s outline, but all he comes across are visitors and late shift nurses that meander around and no tall, tattooed boys. But he carries on, all the way from where they came and walks right past the reception desk and towards the automatic doors that open achingly slow as he steps up to them. 

The night is starting to get chilly now, and he regrets not grabbing his jacket from the tent floor before rushing towards Harry’s car. But there’s nothing he can do about it now as the cold snakes past the thin material of his button up shirt, and besides, it’s the least of his worries. It’s then that he sees him, sitting against a stone pillar that juts out of the hospital's front entrance, his body hunched over and his hands on his knees. Louis rushes over to him immediately, the sound of his shoes against the stone steps sounding like little cracks of lightning that reverberate off the night sky as he runs. 

“Oh, Harry, are you alright?” Louis breathes out, his hands going to his broad shoulders and squeezing ever so lightly, but Harry doesn’t look up. Instead he just shakes his head back and forth, and it’s then that Louis feels the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders and sees the way his chest is caving in on itself with how little he’s breathing. 

“ _ Shit _ . Harry, try to breathe for me, okay?” Louis panics, cupping his face and tilting his head so that he can look him in the eye. They’re wide and dark, the emerald glitter of them all but snubbed out with how much his pupils are consuming all light inside them and his lips are nearly the same shade as his pale face. He shakes his head again, a frantic flash in his eyes like he’s trying to beg Louis for help, like he’s trying to tell him that he can’t breathe because all the air in his lungs has been wiped out. 

“Fuck, Harry, come on. Breathe. You’re okay” Louis tries to coax him, holding his face tighter and locking their eyes on one another “ _ Baby _ . Come  _ on _ ” 

He doesn’t know why he does it, or what sporadic reasoning he has behind it, but he grabs one of Harry’s hands between his own and places it right above his heart that is now thumping against his ribs. He keeps looking at him, blue eyes on green, and somehow he can hear the small intake of breath that is being cleaved between Harry’s lips. His big hand rests heavy on his chest, and Louis’ heart keeps beating beneath the wiry lines and scratched indents of Harry’s palm. 

“You feel that, yeah? Just focus on that, okay? Focus on my heartbeat and try to breathe” Louis tells him softly, never letting his eyes waver from Harry’s and they stay like that for a while, within the dimness of their hiding space while Louis keeps holding Harry’s hand and while his breathing gets more even. It’s like Harry’s a sinking anchor, so hopelessly battling within the dark expanse of the ocean and Louis’ the rope that’s come to haul him up, to drag him out and let him breathe. He does that eventually, after seconds of sucking in ragged breaths between his dry lips. He clenches the fingers of his other hand around Louis’ waist and then he gulps the night air inside his chest like he’s trying to fill every fibre of his lungs with the chilliness of it, and Louis nearly sinks to his knees with happiness. 

Louis just presses both of his hands against Harry’s even tighter and steps into the bridge of his open legs, his own knees gone completely weak from worry. Harry lets out a sob then, one that has the power to rip into Louis’ soul like tiny, catastrophic blades that cut as they go and he can’t allow himself to hesitate before wrapping his arms around him. 

“It’s alright, love. Let it out” Louis whispers into his hair, his own voice rattling like sails caught in the wind and at his words Harry only seems to cry harder. He lets Louis hold him through his croaky sobs, and all the while he keeps his hand right over Louis’ heart, letting it keep him steady in his world that’s just turned upside down. If only he knew how much that heart is so full of  _ him _ , so full of love for him that Louis can barely contain it. Louis tries not to notice the way it suddenly picks up beneath Harry’s fingers at the thought, and instead buries his face into his neck. 

“I’m sorry, Lou. I’m so sorry” Harry babbles after a while. Louis isn’t sure how long they’ve been standing here, but the wind is still chilly and the night is still dark and their situation is still very much raw. 

“What have you to be sorry for?” Louis whispers to him tenderly, standing up straight to look Harry in the eye. They’re so terribly lost looking, so full of unanswered questions and fear, and Louis can’t help but wipe his thumbs under them to rid away the falling tears “You can cry to me, or scream, whatever you need. No need for a sorry, love, alright? I’m here” 

“I just…..can’t believe this is happening, you know? I was so stupid to think he’d get better. So fucking  _ stupid _ ” Harry mutters bitterly, his fingers twisting in the front of Louis’ shirt. He’s sure if he looks down at the thin material then it will be imprinted with creases where Harry’s hand has bunched it up, but he doesn’t care. 

“You’re not stupid, Harry” Louis tells him, his own fingers now threading soothingly through Harry’s hair. He feels him sigh a little beneath him, his body going slack against the pillar like he’s just exhaled pockets of pent up pain from his lips “you had hope he’d be fine, that’s not being stupid, that’s wanting someone you love to be okay” 

“The first time he got sick, I didn’t really understand what it all meant, but I understood how much it would hurt me if I lost him. I was so lost, Louis, but _now_ , now it’s so much worse. He was in hospital a couple weeks ago, and I knew….I fucking _knew it_ in the back of my mind. I just...couldn’t bring myself to even consider it” Harry looks at him then, green eyes twinkling with big tears that are gathering near his lash line and escaping down his cheeks. Louis catches them with the pads of his fingers, gently getting rid of them with a tender touch “What happens if I lose him? He’s been just as much a parent to me as my own Dad” 

“Harry, listen, please don’t think like that” Louis holds his face close, his thumbs ghosting over the lines of his cheekbones “It’ll kill you if you do. You don’t know how bad it is yet, or what’s going to happen, so don’t eat yourself up. Just...everything could be okay, alright? Be there for your Mum right now, and Charles. I know you’re strong”

“You don’t really believe that, do you? That everything’s going to be okay?” Harry looks at him, peers at him really, like he’s trying to jump into the blue of Louis’ irises and seek out his soul. Louis stifles out a shaky breath, because fuck it, he doesn’t know if it’s going to be okay or if Charles will get through this like he did the last time.

“I want it to be” Louis whispers to him, fondly tucking a few long pieces of hair behind Harry’s ears and then he sucks in a breath, because he really can’t lie to him. He can’t rehash the words that were spoken to him in dimly lit kitchens at midnight when he couldn’t sleep, or in hospice corridors when he demanded answers. He can’t repeat the words that were offered to him when he was screaming himself hoarse outside in his back garden, crying at the sky and on his knees when he’d stumbled downstairs after his Mum had closed her eyes for the last time. No, he can’t tell Harry it’s going to be okay because he just doesn’t know. 

“I want everything to be okay for you, but I don’t know if it will, Harry. I don’t know what’s going to happen or if this is going to be fine. But I know that if there’s anyone that understands this, it’s me. I’m here for you, and….and I’ll help you anyway I can, alright? I’m here for you” Louis tells him, grips his face tighter and tries to sink his words inside of him to burrow within the expanse of him. 

He just looks back at him, his face half shadowed with the cover of darkness that cloaks itself around the pillars and half lit up with the washed out light of the hospital's entrance. He’s so beautiful, even now, with his tear filled eyes and pale face and Louis feels his heart pack itself to capacity as he looks at him. So full of care and concern and  _ love  _ for him that he feels it might explode. 

“I’m so glad it’s you” Harry whispers to him, his hands snaking around Louis’ waist to pull him closer “I’m so fucking glad it’s you that I have with me. This fake date thing was probably the best thing to ever happen to me” 

Louis just swallows down the lump that’s forming in his throat, the one that is packed with all the words he wants to say and all the declarations that he aches to paint the sky with. But he can’t say anything right now - he doesn’t know how he could. So he just leans down and presses his lips against Harry’s and kisses him softly. His lips are dry and his cheeks are wet with tears, but it’s so soothing to kiss him this way, to feel the tightness in his shoulders dissolve or feel the way his hands go slack against his waist. Louis holds Harry close, his head bent down and his hands tangled within the mess of his long hair and he tries to kiss away some of the pain that is harbouring itself in his heart like a festering wound that won’t heal. 

“I’m so glad it’s you too” Louis whispers against his lips as he pulls away, because he can’t help himself from relieving some of the pent up love that is clouding each of his senses. He puckers his lips against Harry’s a few times more before Harry is sliding his hands up Louis’ waist to hold his face. Harry breaks away from his hold then, and peers up at him from where he’s leaned against the pillar, his eyes so wonderful and magnetic on Louis’. They start some sort of search again, but this time it isn’t frantic or fear filled, it’s soft and warm and the edges of his green irises are pooling with affection. Their breaths mingle with one another's, swirling in the air with the heavy pause that is sitting between them, and then Harry lips are trembling before he speaks. 

“Louis, I think I’m in -” 

“Hey, there you are!” a tired voice calls out, shattering their moment like a sheet of ice. They whip their heads towards the entrance then, where a very wrecked looking Gemma stands, but this time she’s with her Dad, his own face looking crumpled with emotion. Louis finds it highly endearing how this man is so warm and accepting to his children’s stepfather, and how he’s always seemed to get along with him. He finds it almost head-wrecking to try and contemplate having not one, but  _ two _ , extremely loving father figures the way Harry does. Louis only has one dad, and John could never do the job right. 

“Hey” Louis waves them over, watching as Edward links his daughter and begins walking down the steps. Louis turns back to Harry then, who now looks like all the colour has just been drained from his face, and his eyes are staring blankly at a spot on Louis’ chest “Hey, love, what were you going to say? You alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah” Harry nods, running a hand through his hair “was just gonna say we should go inside” 

He’s skittish though when he stands up from the pillar, his eyes darting around like if he looks at Louis then he might break. Louis can tell he’s lying, but whatever it was that he was going to say stays clamped behind his full lips. Perhaps he needed to vent some more, to release some of the tension inside of himself by going on an emotional tirade and now can’t in front of his family. Louis will be here for him later though, whenever he needs to cry or scream. 

“Charles is back in his room now. He’s asking for you, Harry” Gemma softly tells him, her brown eyes warm and affectionate. Louis can hear the way Harry’s breath stutters, but it only lasts a second before he’s sucking in his cheeks and standing up straighter. 

“Okay, let’s go in” he says with a nod, and all four of them turn to trail back through the entrance way. They walk back through the hospital in silence, the only sounds are the soft screech of trolley wheels and the click of people’s shoes off of the shiny floors, and the far away ringing of a telephone. Harry just reaches for Louis’ hand, wrapping his fingers around his like he never wants to let go, and Louis finds it hard to tell where he starts and Harry ends. 

They come back to the same corridor Anne had been standing in the middle of the last time, but Gemma stops outside a closed white door that looks oddly imposing. Louis grips Harry’s hand tighter, his heart beating horridly in his chest when the edges of his vision get warped. This feels all too familiar, the heavy weight of it pushing the air out of his lungs and squeezing his brain. He’s been on the other end of many doors like this before, just a kid, so afraid to enter the room with the too loud machines and the tubes and the ragged breathing. He’d always been so afraid to see her like that - so weak and decrepit and unlike the woman she always was. It always frightened him so deeply, even though he tried to not show it on his face, and right now he knows he can’t walk past that door. 

“Hey, I’ll wait here for you, okay?” Louis pulls Harry to the side and whispers to him, but Harry shakes his head frantically with worried eyes. 

“No, baby, I don’t want you to leave -” 

“I’m not leaving. I’ll be here when you need me” Louis reassures him softly “but this is between your family, not me. You need to spend time together” 

“Louis’ right, Harry. We’ll go get a coffee while we wait, son” Edward suggests kindly to Louis, a strong hand wrapping around his shoulders to steer him away. Harry just drops his hand then and nods like he understands, a droop in his mouth and a dimness in his eyes but he looks back at Louis like he’s trying to gather the last bits of strength he has left inside of him.

“See you in a bit, love” Louis tells him with a watery smile that Harry tries to feebly return, and the last thing he sees before rounding the corner with Edward is Harry taking one huge breath, and opening the door. 

* * *

It’s much later now, the small yellow clock that hangs on the wall had told Louis that it’s nearly eleven, and he’s had to get up off the sticky plastic chairs in the waiting room to walk around the corner because he’s sick of its ticking that seems so deafening in the quiet space. Charles’ door is now closed again, and there’s a dim silence that hangs around the hallways, the only noise being Louis’ footsteps and the low hum of the vending machine he now stands before. He pushes in a few coins that were wedged inside his wallet and watches as a bottle of fizzy soda and a chocolate bar fall into the dark cavity at the bottom. 

He walks slowly back to the waiting room, his eyes falling on Gemma who is sprawled across the chairs, her head in her Dad’s lap and his jacket thrown over her slim frame. He has his own head in his hands, his body slumped like he too wants to sleep. Harry’s nowhere to be seen - the boy who had just been there a moment ago. But before he can panic or even ask for his whereabouts, Edward lifts his head at the sound of his footsteps. 

“He’s just gone outside” Edward hoarsely tells him, pointing a hand towards the end of the corridor where a small courtyard rests. Louis just nods with a smile and begins to walk towards it, pushing the glass door open and stepping into the square courtyard with the moss covered pathways and the very dismal looking flowers that droop and bend every which way. Fitting, he thinks, that this place isn’t at all beautiful, but rather very complimentary to the emotional state they’re all in. He feels like those flowers right now, so hunched over and forlorn, but it’s nothing compared to Harry. Louis spots him over in the dark corner sitting on a small bench, his phone pressed to his ear and a worried crease between his brow. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell him. Alright, Ni. Talk to you later” Louis hears as he makes his way towards him. Harry looks up at the sound of Louis’ footsteps against the stone tiles on the ground, his green eyes flickering a little more softly at the sight of Louis and that crease in his brow all but disappears. 

“Hey” Louis breathes out wistfully, his heart stuttering when one of Harry’s hands grip his hip to guide him onto his lap. The bench is big enough for two, but Harry must want him close and Louis wants that too, so he leans into him with an arm around his neck and lets them mould into one. 

“Hey” Harry weakly smiles, those green eyes of his now nearly swallowed by the red circles that encase them. He’s been crying silently all day, furiously wiping at his tears and sniffling when he thinks nobody can hear him. Each time he did though, Louis would just hold his hand or rub his back to let him know that it was okay to cry with him. 

“Got you these, think you need a bit of sugar” Louis says, placing the soda and chocolate beside him. 

“Thank you” Harry says gratefully, using one hand to uncap the bottle before taking a swig of the bubbly stuff “that was Niall on the phone. He texted me to ask how the wedding was going, so I told him what happened. He’s near Berkshire with his dad and he offered to come down, but there’s no need. He says hi, by the way” 

“I miss that little leprechaun” Louis teases fondly, his fingers twisting the soft locks of Harry’s hair between them. Harry just smiles a little, absently tracing patterns on Louis’ back with his hand and the silence once again settles around them. It’s weighted and woven with the threads of conversation that they leave unspoken, and once again Louis’ mind twitches with what Harry was going to say earlier. Something in the back of his mind that he won’t allow himself to think of, something that rests there like a ghost, thinks that it knows what words were going to slip from his lips. But at the same time, the logical reason that always crowds his mind is snubbing that very thought. 

But he tries not to think of it at all, instead he just turns his eyes up towards the dark sky and all of it’s twinkling celestial entities that pucker glowing holes in it, and that gloriously ominous moon that beams her face down at him. He keeps twisting his fingers through Harry’s hair, he can feel his body pressed against his, the warm softness of his thighs under his own and he doesn’t think of anything other than that for a solid two minutes. 

“How did you do it?” Harry’s voice cuts through the silence then and Louis turns his eyes back to look at him “when your Mum got sick, how did you carry on? How did you stay strong?” 

“I….I don’t know” Louis whispers, voice cracking like spider lines on a broken window “I wasn’t, at the start. I couldn’t even function properly when Mum was diagnosed because I just thought that it wasn’t really happening, you know? But I had hope for her, I’d hoped that she’d get better, and I needed to be brave for Lottie too. You just….you break down and you curse the world, but at the end of the day it doesn’t change anything. But, Harry, you’re allowed to fall apart, and I did when we were told it was terminal. I completely broke down” 

“What did you do when you found that out?” Harry asks him, and Louis can tell why a worried tremor snakes its way into his voice. It's because he’s scared of what’s to come, of what they all know is going to happen. Harry and Gemma had spent a while inside Charles’ room while Louis and Edward had holed themselves up in the poky coffee shop on the ground floor of the hospital, but during that time all the hard questions hadn’t been answered. Anne had told them that they could be waiting another week or so for any results, that it was just a waiting game now. 

“Mum had been taken into the hospital because she had gotten really bad, and they called us into this private little room. It was just me, my Gran and Lots. I knew the minute I saw the doctor's face that it wasn’t going to be good news” Louis recalls sadly, his eyes falling onto his lap “Five months. That was what it came down to in the end, that I had that long left with her. You think five months is a long time, you know? But it’s not, it’s so fucking short and it went by so fast that even now I look back on it and try to remember all these last moments I had with her and….I can’t. It’s just a blur. But I’d been strong for so long, that when I heard the doctor say that, I just...I ran away” 

“You ran away?” Harry whispers, his face so full of genuine care that it makes Louis nearly freeze up. He doesn’t even know why he’s saying all of this, or what has allowed him to be so free with this topic, because he never talks about it.  _ Never _ . Not even with his own sister who had gone through the same thing he had. It’s always been too difficult, like the whole idea of talking about it sits like razor blades in his throat, ready to bleed him dry if he even so much as utters it. But here, with Harry, with just him and the moon, he feels comfortable talking about this for the first time in four years. 

“I just bolted. Got a bus to the seaside and sat there on the beach all fucking day. I was too shocked to even cry” Louis explains “but it kind of helped a little. It gave me time to think by myself before I went head first into this scary situation I was in. I stayed there all day, just sat there listening to the ocean, and I didn’t go back until the last bus came in. I just, I’d needed to get away before everything got too real, Harry. It was a little bit of peace before everything went to shit” 

“Would you run away with me, if I asked you to?” Harry asks him softly, and his words imprint against the night time cover of the small courtyard before either of them speaks again. It’s Louis who breaks the silence. 

“I think I’d go anywhere with you” Louis answers him, voice barely above a whisper and his fingers tremble just slightly as they raise to Harry’s face to trace his lips. 

“Then run away with me, please. Just for a few days. Before this gets too real for  _ me _ ” Harry nearly begs, but Louis just leans back a little with the small spark of shock that’s just gone through his body. 

“Harry….you don’t mean that, do you?” Louis questions gently, because he doesn’t know if removing himself from this situation is the best thing for Harry. Louis had been a scared sixteen year old kid who didn’t want to sit and listen about how his mother was going to slowly die over the course of half a year, so he’d ran away to a seaside town she’d taken him and Lottie to for a couple of summers. 

“If this is going to be as serious as I know it’s going to be, then I need to find peace before it all turns to shit. I need that, Louis. I need that peace you talked about, and I want that with you” Harry confesses, and there’s something desperate, something so longing in his eyes that Louis can’t help but sigh defeatedly over. How can he refuse him? How can he deny him this small semblance of normality that he wants to cleave between his fingertips before his whole world descends into a tumultuous whirl of sickness and pain?

“Alright, yeah. Let’s run away for a while” Louis smiles at him, cupping his face between his hands “Where do you want to go?” 

“Gemma said she’s not going to Dorset, right? We could go there” 

“Okay, let’s go there” Louis nods before leaning down to kiss Harry’s cherry red lips. Harry sighs against his lips, content now that he can remove himself from all of this for just a short few days, before results come back and before everything he’s ever known is ripped away from him. Louis kisses him so softly, so gently, and lets him know silently that he’s going to be okay, no matter what.

Perhaps he’s being selfish, but in the back of his mind he knows exactly why he is so readily agreeing to spending even more time alone with Harry, away from university and normality. It’s because deep down, he knows exactly how afraid he is to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also thank you to everyone who has left me lovely comments! they make my days better


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